Calor Cupiditatis
by AristideCauquemaire
Summary: "When Scorpius found the spell, he was thirteen. Looking back on it later, he sometimes thought that maybe the spell had found him instead. Like mistakes will find the person to make them, or like a sin eventually finds the sinner who can commit it..." Slash, Next Generation, SM/JSP. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language, graphic descriptions, and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; het, slash, non-consensual situations (later on.)

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_Hello, sweeties!_

_Yes, yes, it is I. How nice to see you! It's been a long time since my last contribution – and let me tell you, the stuff that happened in that time? Hooboy. Life, eh? So crazy._

_I'm afraid there'll be a bit of a preamble coming up. Skip it if you find such things tiresome ^^.  
_

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_Let me take a moment to thank a bunch of people (in no particular order): MissGame, Voyager1987, HarryDracoDizzy, slashluver1984, SNlois, The Cookie Crumbles, , BlankMask, SlytherinChickXO, Tpol3FelixXCalhoun, Sepiolith and Bluemoon269 – y'all didn't go unnoticed, believe me. Thank you for reading my stuff, then putting said stuff onto your favourite lists and/or reviewing said stuff. A brave, lone ranger called Fraggle gave me my very first homophobic comment – Thank you for that, love! Your words inspired a key part of the following story. Also, I feel really validated in my relentless efforts to push the evil, ungodly HP slash fan-fiction agenda! Mwahaha._

_Special thanks to Lunacom and Shiny. You both know what I mean._

_And __**special **__special thanks to Nia (HP-Lette-Fan), my friend and beta-reader. You also know what for, and then some._

_A bit about this story: It started, like these things often do, as a stupid and somewhat naughty idea. It's my first "Next Generation"-story ever, so I got to get really wild with the characters (although my favourite two last names stayed the same). I hope my (re-)imagination of their personalities and traits pleases you._

_Also, you might have noticed the 'non-con' up there in the warnings. That's also a first for me. I grew up on a steady diet of non-con- infused fanfiction, so it's woefully difficult not to romanticize it. I didn't mean to, although I'm afraid that that's exactly what I did in the end. I'll let you be the judges of that.  
_

___Please accept my apology for taking so long with this one. To be fair, it is (drum roll, suspense) longer! (flourish, gasps!) than all my previous stories, by 15k words no less. It's so long, in fact, that I decided to make two stories out of it. Story and sequel, composed of 19 and 13 chapters respectively, coming right up._

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_As usual, I will be posting __**one chapter every evening**__ (EST) to enable myself to interact with you (yeah, you who doesn't log in for reviewing, which of course you will be doing A LOT, because that makes me happy! *hint hint*)._

_As usual, pt 2, __**this is**__ – surprise, surprise! - __**a slash fan-fiction**__. As such, it features __**boys kissing and falling in love**__ and __**stuff**__ (mostly stuff in this one, to be fair...)__. If you don't like it, leave – or better yet, leave me a review. Your words will be used to assist me with my future, HP-faggotry-promoting writing endeavours. xoxo_

_And now, __without further ado: Please enjoy._

/

**-/Chapter 1/-**

/

When Scorpius found the spell, he was thirteen. Looking back on it later, he sometimes thought that maybe the spell had found him instead. Like mistakes will find the person to make them, or like a sin eventually finds the sinner who can commit it.

It happened in his father's library while he was leafing through books, at more-or-less random, to find some information that would help him with the last two feet of the transfiguration assignment McGonagall had inflicted upon them over the holidays. As if anyone would ever really want to transform paper clips into cutlery.

He was about to slam the book before him shut when the detailed, lifelike drawing of a vagina made him do a double take.

He leafed back hastily, found the page, confirmed that it was indeed what he had thought it was, bookmarked it in a hurry with only a fleeting glance, looked around himself to make sure no one had seen, and flipped the book shut. His heart was beating fast and hot in his chest, not for the first time in his life, but almost.

His mother and father had made sure that he was informed about "sex and stuff", but in those talks they had done their best make it seem either boring or completely unattainable until he was at least thirty five.

At Hogwarts, sexuality wasn't exactly encouraged, so everything sex-related was still exciting and cloaked in secrecy. There were pictures in much-thumbed magazines, already faded and crinkly from use, circulating through the boys' dormitories, well out of the sight of girls or teachers. Filius Brocklebarn, a fifth year Slytherin, was a gifted artist and sometimes provided the house's boys with ink drawings of naked, buxom women in unlikely but enticing poses. He had drawn Annabelle Warren once – naked on her broom, long blonde hair flowing behind her – and left it lying on the table in the common room for a single inattentive second. Scorpius still had that sketch, tucked away safely in his stack of old homework papers. But none of those pictures or drawings ever actually showed a vagina – that hidden, mysterious place every boy seemed intent on getting to, while having only the vaguest of ideas about it.

Scorpius gingerly placed the book next to the stack of homework-relevant books on his desk, giving it a special place because he knew that he had struck gold.

The anticipation almost killed him. But if there was anything his father had taught him, it was self-control. Patience. Some might call it opportunism. So he would wait for his moment to arrive.

He could hear his mother going about her business in the adjacent office and there were house-elves around as well. Too much of an audience, not enough privacy. Not worth the risk. Getting himself caught was simply out of the question.

Dutifully he finished his assignment – still an inch and a half too short in the end but he hoped against all reason that McGonagall wouldn't measure it too over-carefully – and took the book with him to his bedroom. He put it into the night stand drawer and then went to have dinner. Next, he took care of his owls, wrote a letter to Bagman to ask her how her part of the big partner assignment for Potions was coming along, had a short match of Quidditch against his father which turned into a flying lesson like it always did when he had time, and took a shower afterwards.

It was half past nine when he made it to bed. He listened for noises for a full minute with bated breath, made sure twice that his door was locked. He laid one of his robes in front of it so the light of his lamp wouldn't shine through the crack under the door to alert his mother, should she walk down the hallway. If she saw the light, she might check in on him. That was to be avoided at all costs.

Finally, he took the book from the drawer, placed it on his thighs and opened it at the bookmarked page. His hands were a little sweaty. He was biting his tongue in concentration.

It wasn't how he had imagined a vagina to look like, frankly.

He had imagined that there was a lot more... hole involved – he did know the general mechanics of sex, after all, so it seemed plausible that there would be a hole for the, you know, to go into.

Instead, it looked more like flower petals that might or might not conceal a hole. It wasn't as neatly symmetric as he had thought it to be, either. Filius had always drawn them as simple, straight slits. Actually, it was wobbly and wavy and a bit weird. Frilly and vaguely shaped like an elongated teardrop.

Also, he was astonished to find, there were actually _two_ holes deftly concealed within this flowery arrangement, which the text around the drawing described. And a weird little knob whose only function seemed to be to evoke spectacular sensations in a woman, right at the top, though, confoundingly remote from where the, know you, was supposed to go and where the actual touching was bound to happen. The author, apparently a man although it said Andrea Gabriello Santini on the cover – Italian, Scorpius suspected – couldn't really describe this sensation with words. "_According to my questionees," _he merely wrote,_ "these feelings sometimes last several seconds and range from firework-like, supremely euphoric outbursts to the deeply content, satisfactory feeling that is experienced when one finally succeeds in sneezing_."

Scorpius snickered and turned the page. Even more pictures of vaginas, entitled 2, 3, 4a, 4b, and 5. It took him some inspection to spot the differences between the studies. The further down on the page he went, the plumper and redder the petals seemed to be. More moist, too. And the fascinating little knob had swollen as it sat there, like a pearl in a clam, even though it wasn't perfectly round at all. More like a pea. A half-hidden pea. In the last drawing, a tiny opening showed as a clear liquid flowed from it.

Scorpius was mystified and read the text surrounding the illustrations to understand what he was looking at.

This was the first time he came across the spell.

_Calor Cupiditatis_, it read in still-legible Fraktur, _is a spell that inspires sexual desire in all* living creatures that have the discernible disposition for such a state._

The asterisk, just as he would have guessed, led to a disclaimer at the bottom of the page saying that 'all' was, naturally, _an extrapolation from various experiments_. Also, despite several trials, the jury was still out when it came to pandas. Scorpius tried not to reflect on any of that and jumped back into the text.

_Bodily, it brings about and quickens the blood flow to the sexual organs, causing rapid swelling (as seen in figures 2 through 5) and heightened sensitivity to touch and temperature overall. Heightened sensitivity of sensory organs, such as a heightened perception of smells and sounds, may occur. Susceptible recipients may experience heightened emotions which manifest themselves as temper tantrums or crying fits. In rare cases, the recipient may fall asleep abruptly._

"Huh, that's _vague_," Scorpius mumbled to himself and turned the page. "What a useless spell."

_Calor Cupiditatis does not affect the hormonal balance and thus will not influence the biological reproductive performance as such._

_In distinction to Aestus Alacer, the spell inspires sexual thought and a general mental feeling of heightened sexual appetite in accordance to the recipient's inclinations and nature. In distinction to Culmen Calidus, the spell will not necessarily bring about an instantaneous climax but rather inflict upon the recipient an organic if strong excitement that will demand to be sated quickly and thoroughly. It was devised to treat women with the common symptoms of _hysteria_ and ease _inappetence _and _lethargy_._

Mariella had told him about hysteria once to make a point about how boys never understood girls. Shrew had ended up in the Hospital Wing with a pair of drooping broccoli ears, after telling Mariella that boys would understand girls if girls just tried to be less hysterical every once in a while.

_Daily treatment longer than 14 consecutive days is not recommended._

"Massively helpful advice," Scorpius mouthed to himself as the text ended there without specifying why the treatment shouldn't be longer, or what might happen if it was.

He went back to the pictures of the vaginas, anxiously checked once more if there was anybody watching or listening, and finally dared to touch them with his fingertip.

It was an anticlimactic moment to say the least. He didn't even know what he had expected. It was just ink on paper. The pictures didn't even move.

He turned the page and almost turned back immediately, but then didn't when he realised that he was all alone and there was no one there to judge him. Still, it felt strange to sit here and look at detailed illustrations of a penis in various stages of becoming erect. He couldn't help but wonder if his own would ever be that long and thick. He hoped it would. It looked so strong and imposing while his wasn't, yet.

Scorpius let the book fall shut and slid it back into his night stand drawer, lay down and pulled the blanket over his head. "Caylor. No. Cah-lore." _Must pronounce Latin._ "Calor. Calor Cupi... Cupidatis. No." He mouthed the word slowly. "Coo... pee... dee... tah... tis." Then, faster. "Cupiditatis. Calor Cupiditatis." He felt positively nefarious for saying it. He giggled and said it once more.

He fell asleep without meaning to and dreamed of Annabelle Warren on her broom but wouldn't remember it in the morning.

He brought the book back to the library in an opportune moment the next afternoon, put it back in the shelf between all the others, until it was just one of the many, nothing remarkable, forgettable. He forgot the title the same evening, and the name of the author the week after.

And indeed he forgot most about the spell – if not about the detailed illustrations of vaginas and penises, because no child can forget about something like that, not ever, not really – until years after that.

/

/

"Not..." He sealed the word into her mouth with his lips but eventually had to draw back again. "...now," she continued once she was able to. "I don't... have time right n-ohh."

He had caught Sarah before Astronomy class. She had let herself be pulled into a hidden niche and welcomed his embrace and his kisses but wasn't much inclined to his hand wandering up between her smooth thighs, sadly.

"There's plenty of time," he mumbled into the nape of her neck. He gently yet surely marked her as his territory with his lips and teeth, taking in the scent of her skin – peachy, soapy, very feminine – and enjoying the soft feeling of it against his mouth, cheeks and nose.

They'd only just started doing this four days ago when they had had a slightly tipsy encounter in and outside of a Hogsmeade pub. More than slightly tipsy on her part, maybe. _Merlin bless Hogsmeade visits._

He knew it wasn't made to last. Sarah was a free bird, the freest that Hogwarts had to offer. Everyone knew that several boys had had the pleasure already. Davies, Weasley, Mitchell and O'Brian were the names that first came to mind. All of them were much more handsome, taller and more popular than Scorpius was, all of them older – one of them had graduated last year, one currently finishing his seventh year in Beauxbatons, and two seventh year Hogwarts students when he was only in sixth – but Sarah wouldn't let herself be tied down by anyone.

Scorpius didn't have delusions of grandeur. He just wanted to enjoy it while he could, while Sarah was fine with yet another substitute for the guy she really wanted, in spite of, or because of, the idiot's persistent virginity and refusal to date anyone. Which everyone knew as well.

"No, there isn't." Her voice sounded husky, but with an edge. "I was late last week already, Sinistra is going to give me detention-"

"I'll be there with you." He hadn't told her yet that he'd recently come across a spell that made him invisible – one of the very few transfiguration-based spells he happened to be really, really good at. Well, technically not invisible; more like a chameleon. In any case, he could actually join her in detention without anyone having a clue. "I can make detention worth your while," he promised, purring it with a teasing upward inflection.

"But I don't _want_ detention." The way her voice fell at the end of the sentence already told him that she was about to switch from playful to serious, even before the inevitable "Scorpius, stop" followed suit.

He did with a sigh and bodily sagged against her. She let him stand like that and bathe in her scent, warmth and softness for ten more merciful seconds. Then she peeled him off of herself, putting some distance between them.

He looked at her, pulling the most miserable-but-not-pathetically-so face he could.

It worked. Her lips, still red and moist from the previous activities, twitched upward in the corners in a mollified little smile, and she leaned in to him. "Seven o'clock in the alcove by the Transfiguration classroom?" she mumbled cosily and rubbed her nose against his with a coy smile.

"Can't bloody wait," he mumbled back, got another peck on the cheek, a quick "Don't be late, or else", and then she was gone and left him standing there. In every sense of the word. He sighed and went to find himself a deserted restroom.

/**TBC**

_Be a dear, leave me a review, make my day!_

_And come by tomorrow maybe to read chapter 2?_


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language, graphic descriptions, and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations (later on)

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_Thank you, anonymous people who read chapter 1! And then went to read my other stuff! It's always nice to see the counter on the other stories suddenly go up :)_

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**-/Chapter 2/-**

/

It was an unwritten rule that any span of time could feel twice to fourteen times as long as it actually was, when you were eagerly waiting for something.

Fifteen to twenty times as long if said _something_ was a meeting with a beautiful girl.

The day dragged horribly and nothing seemed to go right at all. What felt like three and a half soul-crushing weeks later, he arrived at their meeting point twenty minutes past seven because Professor Smith was a raging arsehole. He had made him clean up after three of his classmates who had blown up their cauldrons for fun, splattering the entire classroom with sticky brown goo. So now Scorpius was outrageously late, sweating, out of breath, and there was also a large, puke-coloured potion stain adorning the front of his robe. At least it didn't _smell_ like puke. Only like burnt rubber.

His mood impossibly sagged further when he found the alcove deserted. No trace of Sarah anywhere. He leaned against the wall and butted his head against the stones repeatedly and accompanied each thunk with several expletives and groans under his breath.

"D'you think that concussions help against being a complete jackass?"

He whirled around. There she stood, arms crossed. _Ohh. Not good._

"Sarah, thank Merlin. Listen, sorry I'm late-" he tried although he really didn't feel like apologizing at all. He really just wanted to press himself against her and forget the world.

"Not good enough, Malfoy," she said and clicked her tongue. Last name._ Ohh no. _"I told you, don't be late. You know how important punctuality is to me."

Ah, the O'Brian story. She had told him _twice_ in Hogsmeade.

"Smith made me clean-" he started to explain but was interrupted again.

"I seriously started to think that you are a waste of my time, you know?" Her arms uncrossed as she put her hands on her hips. Not good_ at all_. "That was, like, ten minutes ago."

"Let me make it up to you, then," Scorpius blurted, seriously desperate going on irritated now. All that could possibly save this abysmal day was standing right in front of him, but she was too pissed off at him to provide the relief he needed.

For a second, she seemed to consider his offer. Then-

"Actually," she said and shrugged, "I don't think so."

And she turned around and walked away.

Just walked away.

Just like that.

He called her name, but all she did was make a flippantly rude gesture over her shoulder.

Scorpius could barely keep himself from hitting the wall with his fist.

Out of the sheer desperation and the anger at the unfairness of it all, a memory rose. Because he needed a spell that could make her turn on her heel and come back to him and into his arms – a spell that wasn't Unforgivable, anyway –, he remembered one he had read about years ago. At home in a book from his father's library.

He got out his wand, made the motion as had been described in the book – two swishes, with a loose wrist – and softly spoke the words that he had almost forgotten but remembered clearly now, as if they had been buried underneath and preserved perfectly by layers and layers of other things, only to come up to the surface now, shiny and new.

"Calor Cupiditatis."

A warm breath of air caressed the tips of his fingers when a soft light coloured like a candle's flame burst from the tip of his wand, floated through the air noiselessly and hit Sarah in the middle of her back.

At first he thought he might have made a mistake, for there was no reaction. She just kept walking.  
But then, she slowed down. Eventually, she stopped completely.

Next, she let out a groan and shook once all over.

Scorpius panicked a little and swore under his breath, pocketing his wand again. His stomach churned with fear. "Sarah!" he called as he walked up to her, slowly and apprehensively, "are you all right?"

_Fuck. Fuck _fuck_. What have you _done_, you bloody idiot? Casting an unknown spell at her, you dumb-_

Instead of giving him an answer, she turned her face toward him. He got a smouldering look, angry, calculating, a long, hard stare.

And suddenly his hands were full with his not-quite-girlfriend. She pounced on him, pressed her body fiercely into his, making him back up against the wall which he hit with an 'ouf!', and snogged him so deeply that for a moment he feared she was going to take out his tonsils.

Another moment later, every coherent thought had vanished, along with all the grief the day had given him. His eyes fell shut and he kissed and licked and gnawed and sighed, blissfully indifferent to the fact that they were very visible and audible in the corridor. He grabbed handfuls of her soft hair as she clutched at his, felt the curves of her body and let his hands rest blatantly on her backside without her swatting them away.

That evening was the first time he had ever got to touch a girl's breasts. Under the bra. He found that they were squishy and firm at the same time, a very exciting and unusual combination. Different from what he had thought – but much better, too. And he loved the sounds coming out of Sarah's mouth when he brushed and tweaked her nipples.

He ended up with his leg between hers, and Sarah ground her pelvis against his thigh like a maniac, moaning like she never had before, until she suddenly froze with a completely silent cry, clamping her thighs around his in an almost painful pincer-crab clutch, then shuddered mightily and then stilled slowly.

Little by little, the world ceased its mad racing.

"Uhm," she uttered afterwards as she 'dismounted', still panting a little. "That was weird."

"The good weird, I hope?" he muttered against her neck, sparing her the awkwardness of looking at her face, because it was really, really red and there was a sheen of sweat on her upper lip that was endlessly enticing while not being very attractive.

"Kind of," she mumbled back and tried to wipe the sweat away with her index finger without him noticing.

They kissed lazily and sloppily until it was definitely late. His watch told him that it was just past eight when Sarah set off to the Ravenclaw dormitories, explaining that she had an early Charms lesson tomorrow and needed sleep. He watched her stagger a little and steady herself on the wall as she went and couldn't help feeling like the king of the world for it. _Drunk with kisses_ was a phrase that came to mind. _My kisses._

_And maybe some magic._ He shoved that last thought aside.

The next day, he got her owl for breakfast. '6. Same place. Don't be late this time' the message read. The 'Don't' was underlined twice.

He turned and found her sitting with her Ravenclaw girls, Kamya Patil and Olivia Corner. She caught him looking and blushed a little.

"Malfoy, what're you looking like the cat that swallowed the canary for?" Mariella asked him from across the table as she saw his self-satisfied face. His classmate was decidedly not a morning person and took personal offence at anybody being cheerful before nine a.m.

He just shrugged, happy to have a secret for once, and continued with his breakfast.

/

Things were great for two weeks. Two wonderful, dreamlike weeks.

They met clandestinely after class, and sometimes before and in between, and even ended up under a tree in Hogsmeade one Sunday afternoon. Except for that one time in Hogsmeade – when she was wearing four layers of clothing against the cold – she would let him fondle her breasts however he wanted. And he seized the chance, and other things, and enjoyed and saw to it that she enjoyed herself as well.

It was fun and games, exciting because it was new, and because it was their exclusive secret, and it felt light because no words were needed. Unlike all their classmates' relationships around them, there was no need for drama, big arrangements or commitment. Because of that, it felt a bit unreal. In fact, Scorpius woke up in the middle of the night once or twice thinking that it was just a wet dream, and that impression lasted the whole day until Sarah came up to him and pulled him into some alcove again to correct it.

He only used the spell twice more. The first time, Sarah missed the entirety of History for it. She did get detention that time around and was angry with him. He sneakily followed her like he had said he would – which then became the second time. _Just to make the anger go away_, he told himself.

He got to third base with her right there in the classroom.

She was feverishly hot and very moist. Not exactly sticky, but thick like oil or honey. He remembered the picture of the oddly asymmetric petals from that book in which he had found the spell. It was not really accurate – but more accurate than Filius Brocklehurst's idea of a neat, straight slit anyway. It had omitted the hair, which was virtually everywhere, dark blonde and brownish and and wiry, and no one could have prepared him for the intense smell. It was unlike anything he knew.

Sarah was like a cat in heat under the spell. Her chest was heaving and her nipples were hard and sensitive to the touch. Her eyes gleamed at him as she guided his hands and spread her legs.

When he touched the little pearl it made her breath hitch and moan so loudly he almost feared getting caught. Her hips bucked and bucked again to grind against his fingers, his hand. Scorpius had never been so aroused in his life. The sight, the noises, it was maddening and everything else around him disappeared from his brain.

To return the favour, she went down on him. After all those years of masturbation he hadn't expected this to be so very different from what he had known, but it was.

Oh, _yes_, it was.

His knees were so weak he had to hold on to the wall. He was seeing stars twinkling, and comets rained down every time she did that _thing_ with her tongue- he mewled and she did it again and- and- For a moment there, Scorpius felt like dying of pure bliss.

The next day, she broke up with him via owl.

/

"Sarah! Sar- Sarah!" He ran slalom around the oncoming pupils with some effort, bumped into some and didn't bother apologising. Most of them were taller than him, so he lost sight of her dark blonde hair for a second, but caught it again when she hurried up the stairs.

"Sarah, please!" He hurried after her.

Finally, she stopped on the first landing, turned around with a mighty sigh and went "What, Malfoy?"

"I- I want to talk to you," he pleaded and knew he sounded like a complete wimp.

"Oh, all of a sudden." She rolled her eyes. "We never _talked_ much before, did we?" She cocked an eyebrow at him, then looked around with her arms crossed defensively before her, eyeing every student who was going up or down the stairs around them with measured disdain.

He frowned, slowly walking up to the landing to be eye to eye with her, but she was wearing heels so he ended up looking up at her anyway. "You... You never minded _not talking_, before," he noted carefully, almost scared that she would contradict him. He knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if it turned out that she hadn't really enjoyed herself at all. That he had forced her – even though he knew the spell was a kind of force, but she had done it _without_ the spell as well, and several times, so logically-

"No, I didn't mind," she replied and relief washed over him, followed by a wave of coldness when she added with a shrug, "but that's just not enough for me. Also, there's just nothing to talk _about_ with you, really. So... it's over, Scorpius." She made to walk upstairs, then hesitated on the second step and threw an offhanded "Not that it was ever actually 'on', really. Just go away, leave me alone" over her shoulder.

"Is there someone else?" he immediately disregarded her request and also ignored the annoyed comments from several fifth years who were just coming down the stairs. "Is this what it's about?"

She just kept walking and didn't give any sign whether she had heard or not.

He stood on that landing long after she was out of sight, angry and empty and disappointed, while his fellow students growled at him for standing right in the way.

Knowing that she would leave him for one reason or another eventually – that had been one thing. Actually _being left_ – even if the connection was merely physical and hadn't even lasted a full month – was quite another.

Also, things had been so _good_. Better than good, and always getting better. He hadn't seen it coming at all. He thought they had chemistry together, a connection that was growing ever stronger. Something _special_. He didn't understand.

He felt awful the entire day, which aptly dragged on and on and on. Remembering Sarah and their time together was a taxing experience, both hurtful – now that it was strictly confined to the past and would only fade – and arousing. In the end, being aroused in that manner was almost sickening, but he couldn't help it even though he tried. After suffering through astronomy class, he stole away from his mates and jerked off in a boy's bathroom. He tried to imagine her noises and the feeling of her hot mouth, but the more he focussed on it, the less he succeeded.

On his way down to the Slytherin dungeons, he saw her walking down a corridor.

James Sirius Potter's arm was around her waist.

/**TBC**

_Dun, dun, duuunn!_

_Be a dear, leave me a review!_


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations (starting now, actually...)

_Thank you again, anonymous people who read chapter 1 and/or 2!_

/

**-/Chapter 3/-**

/

"I cannot believe you didn't know," Mariella drawled at him, leafing through the Herbology textbook in search of the screechsnap chapter and looking profoundly bored doing it. There was something about her complete disinterest in things that made everybody open up and talk to her and tell her everything that was on their minds, as if she were a priest in a confession booth. She always rolled her eyes and held her temple and said 'I don't want to hear it, pal. Go away' but ended up being talked to anyway.

"It's not like Hogwarts is a huuuge school with tens of thousands of people, you know? There are no secrets here."

He shot her a long, sour look which she took in, unimpressed.

"Honestly, now, Malfoy. Which cave have you been dwelling in? Potter finally getting himself a girlfriend after seven years of treasured virginity was big goddamn news. I was surprised it didn't make Prophet front page." She sighed theatrically. "And yet, you didn't know. How's that?"

_Yeah, how's that?_

The first thought going through his head when he had seen them had been _Would you look at that – she actually managed to get the guy she always wanted. Even though he lived like a monk up to this point._

And then, the rest of his feelings caught up with him and hit him like a chair in the face.

"She still- We were still together," he insisted. In the books and movies and just _everywhere_, a new relationship didn't, _couldn't_ start until the old one was finished. Those were the _rules_. "The day before yesterday, that evening. How could she-"

"We were talking about Sarah Halberman, yeah?" Mariella arched one eyebrow at him, like she couldn't be bothered to arch both. "The veritable school mattress?"

"Don't talk about her like that," he murmured, slightly miffed.

His friend only rolled her eyes. "May I remind you that _you_ talked about her like that only four weeks ago?" She found the page she had been looking for and carefully flattened the binding so the book would stay open exactly like that. "Just because you rolled around on her once or twice doesn't change anything about the fact that-"

"I didn't _roll around_!" he burst out more vehemently than he had intended. Several heads lifted around the common room. He swallowed and, in a much lower voice, continued "We didn't even-"

"Oh, look, Malfoy. I really don't want to know any of these sordid details, and I also couldn't care less." She glared at him in a way that unmistakably communicated to him that this counselling session was over.

"I've got some work to do here, and for tomorrow, and I really don't want to flunk this stupid course or ruin my N.E.W.T. grades with this. So please, take your sad love life to someone else, or better yet, stop whining, man up, maybe get back at Potter to restore your male pride, or get her back, or _whatever_ – just, please, leave me be. Okay? Okay." And with that, she buried herself in her Herbology assignment and refused to talk another word with him until after breakfast the next morning.

/

Two days after that, he saw Sarah and Potter together once more. They were strolling down the entrance hall as if it were the goddamn Champs-Élyseés, holding hands and clinging and touching – for everyone to see and envy, like Sarah and him never had done. For him, it had always only been meetings in hidden alcoves and abandoned classrooms and behind Honeyduke's, and that made him decidedly, irrationally mad now – and he remembered Mariella going 'stop whining and get back at Potter to restore your pride'.

He set his jaw and resolved that he would. One way or another.

/

The perfect opportunity presented itself right after the second Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw match of the season, the last match before the Easter holidays which were very early this year.

Scorpius hadn't planned any of it. If he had, he wouldn't have sat on the outermost seat of the Slytherin Quidditch stand from which he had the perfect view of the Gryffindor stand, where Potter and Sarah were glued together at the hip, and the hands, and the shoulders, and the mouths. They were impossible to ignore, and the lousy game the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were playing only made it that much harder to look anywhere else but at the two love-birds.

Two and a half hours worth of largely involuntary and emotionally crippling voyeurism had Scorpius loathing both of them and himself in almost equal shares. He couldn't help stomping back to the castle – stomping, as in, pummelling the ground with his feet imagining it were James goddamn Sirius bloody Potter's face. He went way ahead of his friends who were deliberately hanging back to avoid him because 'the little lord is in one of his moods'.

He coincidentally lifted his head just before running into them. Sarah'n'James. Jarah. Sames.

They were almost forming an 'it', intertwined as they were, some weird four-legged, two-armed, two-headed creature whose two mouths kept sucking at each other. They were so busy with one another that they hadn't noticed him.

And there it was. The opportunity. Shiny and waiting right before him. No other people were around – he checked twice in all directions. No one there to catch him.

The wand was out and the words were said even before he had really thought it through.

Just the second James froze in shock as the effect of the spell spread through his body, Scorpius stepped in with a forcedly cheery "Hey there, Sarah!"

Sarah let go of James reflexively and wheeled around. "_You_?"

"Yeah, me, your unwished-for and largely unknown ex-boyfriend. Uhm. Listen-"

Which is exactly what she didn't do.

"Jamie, what's the matter?" Potter had shuddered audibly next to her, and she started fretting about him immediately.

"Hey, Potter, can you give us a minute here?" Scorpius stepped toward him and rather roughly slapped him on the shoulder as if they were best buddies.

The sound that came out of Potter's mouth at the hurtful touch was a strange mix of a yell, a moan and a sigh. Sarah looked at her new boyfriend speechlessly, with her eyes wide, eyebrows up and her mouth forming a perfect 'o'.

The noise actually made Scorpius jump a little, afraid that he had unintentionally dislocated his shoulder or something – he remembered when Brice Parkinson broke Matthew Goldstein's nose during an argument, and that Parkinson had been in detention with Professor Smith every evening of the week for two whole months.

None of them looked anywhere near as shocked as Potter himself, though. His usually pale and mostly stoic face was already turning beet red as he mumbled a hurried "I gotta go" and took leave in the general direction of the castle. Scorpius noticed his odd walk – strangely stiff-legged and bent forward, as if he- well. He suppressed the hearty laugh that was tickling his belly from the inside in spite of the previous shock and cleared his throat.

"Alright, good. Now, Sarah, there's something-"

"Jamie!?" Sarah had finally woken from her surprised stupor. She made to run after her scurrying boyfriend.

And because Scorpius didn't know what else to do, and because his brain was still stuck on that Quidditch stand and soaking in jealousy and stinging with disappointed – love? – and all it wanted was to make her stay, he ended up saying the first thing that came to is mind which, incidentally, was, "We need to talk about STDs, actually."

He could also have petrificus totalussed her, the effect would have been much the same. Long moments of shocked, paralysed staring followed. _At least I made her forget about Potter. Completely._

"_What_?" Her eyes were wide and angry – which wasn't so nice – but fixed on him – which was all he had ever thought he wanted. "_What_?" Her screeching actually startled a bird out of a nearby tree.

"Yeah, uhm." Just like that, he realised he had no idea what on earth he was doing.

"Are you implying that I contracted something from you or something?" She took a step back from him, as if she had just learnt that he had the bubonic plague. "What do you have, warts? Syphilis? Goddamn, Malfoy, _tell me_!"

Upon seeing the horrified look on her face, he backtracked hastily, mumbling, "No, no! That's not -no, that's not what I meant."

"Well, what the _hell_ _did_ you mean?" she demanded, eyes like spears stabbing through him.

"I just wanted to make sure," his mouth started talking without waiting up on his thoughts, "that the two of you are safe and all. I mean, I almost got herpes from watching the two of you suck face during that game-"

"Ugh, Merlin, Malfoy, you're a fucking dickhead," Sarah seethed. "Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

_That's a good question_, he realised. This hadn't gone the way he had imagined at all, and it was mostly his own stupid fault. Even though he wasn't sure exactly _what_ he had imagined...

"Just stay away from us, yeah?" She turned on her heel. "Don't _ever_ talk to me again." With that and a murmur that rhymed with 'anchor', she dashed after her boyfriend and left Scorpius standing there on the trail.

After some minutes, a group of seventh year Slytherins came by, and he decided to tag along, berating himself for messing up all the way to the common room and also mighty glad that no one else had seen.

/

Naturally, talking with Sarah again would be the thing he did again and again. At any given opportunity. They were pretty numerous if one kept an eye out for them, Scorpius found. They multiplied once he mastered casting the spell from his wand inside his sleeve, and then even without saying a word, only moving his lips a little.

"Hey, Halberman!" he approached them, seconds after casting. Sarah would whirl around, instantaneously angry, while Potter would – well, stiffen – and flee the scene promptly.

Sometimes Scorpius had some pretence – "Sprout told us to ask a seventh year if we could use their dittany saplings for our tests." - "Saw your Astronomy book lying around in the classroom, thought you might've forgotten it there." - "I heard you were planning to form a study group for Runes, can I come even though it's not time for my N.E.W.T.s yet?"

Mostly, he didn't even bother any more with the stories. The old oh-hey-didn't-see-you-there-at-all-how-are-you-doing worked quite fine.

More than anything, he enjoyed seeing Potter run away with his ears and neck all flushed. _He should be glad that I haven't slapped him on the shoulder again, in a crowded hallway this time, _he often thought as he watched him go and always resolved to do exactly that next time, just for that noise to have the audience it deserved.

/**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Enjoy!_

/

**-/Chapter 4/-**

/

Easter holidays came and he went home to celebrate with his parents. He enjoyed the break with all its perks – his father and mother provided a welcome change from all the pubertal people Hogwarts was stuffed with, the Manor food was just a tad better than standard school fare, and his father's bibliotheca was so much more useful, convenient and pleasant to be in than the Hogwarts library. Everything was so quiet and civilized. Maybe his friends had a point when they called him a lordling and a snob.

On the penultimate day he went and searched for that book he had stealthily abducted into his bedroom so long ago, the book that had taught him the spell all his thoughts were circling around these days. He wasn't sure about the title, but one quick Accio later, it came flying to him together with six other volumes which he shelved again diligently.

Its title turned out to be dreadfully bereft of any concrete meaning - 'Some Magicks and their Usage' – and he figured that this must've been the reason why he happened across it in the first place, back when McGonagall gave them that holiday assignment.

The pictures of the vaginas had lost quite a lot of their charm, he noted with a slight smile. They seemed really oversimplified and crude and didn't convey any of the excitement of the _real_ thing. _I got horny over anatomical sketches. Damn, I lived a sheltered life. _With a wistful sigh, he turned the pages.

The pictures of the penises also didn't seem so imposing any more now – it was difficult to tell exactly how big the thing was meant to be since there was no scale or reference anywhere, but he'd estimate that his own didn't do too poorly in comparison. Indeed, it was fine when compared the boys of the Quidditch team and to his dorm mates. Good average.

His eyes skimmed the text and caught on Aestus Alacer and Culmen Calidus, but after a quick contemplation he decided to discard them. Making Potter cream into his pants spontaneously would spoil half the fun – and possibly make him suspicious, too – while random erections without apparent cause or corresponding feeling were somewhat too quotidian in the life of a 17 year old male as well. "Broom maker, stick to your twigs," he mumbled to himself, content with the resolve.

_Daily treatment longer than 14 consecutive days is not recommended, _he re-read and remembered wondering, just like he was right now, what would happen if that recommendation were ignored. Before he could finish that thought, however, his mother called for dinner. He shelved the book again, certain that he would never need it again.

/

Three days later, he was back at the Hogwarts tables for breakfast. He shovelled food unto his plate and already missed the peace of the Manor, and the cultured conversation. Instead, he had to sit here, way too early in the morning, surrounded by the bunch of borderline-retards that were his friends, and they were all busy talking about unimportant and completely inane things like-

"What?"

"Ugh, Malfoy, you suck. Listen when I talk, will you?" Shrew threw a balled-up napkin at him but missed. _And he tried out for chaser once. And then complained when he didn't make the team. Tsk._

"Leave him, Shrew, the young lord's left his brain in his castle." Mariella sneered at Scorpius as she stabbed her potatoes with a fork. "The peasants are not to disturb him in his reveries."

"Shut up, Lawless," Scorpius mumbled at her out of the corner of his mouth and elbowed her, which only made her laugh. "Really, though, Shrew. What did you just say?" He had involuntarily caught a name, and it had his blood pressure up.

Robert Shrewsbury, called Rob by everyone and Shrew by his friends, shrugged and grimaced dramatically. "My lordliness, I merely mentioned that _stuff_ seems to have transpired over the holidays and that Gryffindor's very own Mr James Sirius Potter has officially and permanently detached himself from his dulcinea to re-assume his former status as Hogwarts' most eligible bachelor. Sire."

Everyone in earshot cackled as Mariella, in her usual dry manner, clarified, "Potter cut Halberman, is what Shrew's desperately trying to say."

"But- how?" Scorpius tried his hardest not to sound overeager and somewhat thrilled. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know, stuff and things." Shrew shrugged, paused for effect and looked around. "They say she became interested in the baby brother's... _ferret_ during Easter dinner." People laughed into their fists, oooh'ed and no way'ed.

Scorpius found himself silently in the latter crowd. He knew Sarah enough to know that she'd never go for someone younger than herself – except when she was drunk, which was the only reason _he_ ever hit it off with her despite his age. At the same time, there was no way she would have got herself drunk during an Easter dinner at The Potters' house. She was way too proper for that kind of behaviour – and really, it was _The Potter_'s house.

But he couldn't say any of this, for with the exception of Mariella, no one on this table knew exactly how well he knew Sarah. And no one needed to know, really.

Quite apart from that, Albus Potter was steady with Lauren McKillop. Very, very steady. They had been inseparable ever since second year, and – he quickly confirmed – they were still sitting together at breakfast, closely enough for their legs to touch under the table. As they had for four years straight.

"Always think positive – at least Mr Potter can focus on his studying again now and avoid further detentions and unflattering point deductions..." Everyone within earshot snickered at that. The whole castle knew that his relationship with Halberman had curiously coincided with several incidents of tardiness and a much-deplored general decline of James Potter's work ethic. Scorpius knew more about that than anyone else but declined to comment.

"Anyway," Shrew finished, "it's _way_ over 'twixt the two of 'em, so we'll have to close the voting on the baby names, folks. My apologies." He theatrically thumped his chest, then finished with a cheery "Better luck next time!"

"We could vote on the next candidate on the Halberman game instead," Anthony Prince suggested with his mouth full. "You know my chip is in for Rose Weasley this time." He wriggled his eyebrows in what he probably thought was a suggestive manner.

"Just like it was last time, you ruddy perv." Constance Bagman swatted him. "What is it with guys and damn lesbians anyway?"

Scorpius tuned out of the conversation at this point and turned around to look over to the Gryffindor table once more. He spotted the eldest Potter many seats away from his younger brother, with the entire roster of Gryffindor sixth years between them as if to make a point – or maybe he was just over-interpreting things.

James was sitting next to his sister Lily Luna, pointing out something in a rather large book in front of them as Lily hastily jotted things down on a piece of parchment with the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips. Last minute exam preparations, by the looks of it.

There was no trace of Sarah on the entire Ravenclaw table. Not even her closest friends were present.

Mariella's elbow nudged his side to get his attention back to the Slytherin table, where it belonged. "Oy, you okay?" she inquired quietly and hauled the jug of pumpkin juice over his half-eaten plate.

"Sure," he replied immediately, and almost meant it. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, you know," Mariella shrugged non-committally. "Emotional investment and such." For someone so undauntedly insensitive, Mariella sometimes hit nails on their heads with quite a lot of tact and feeling, Scorpius thought.

"Nah," he replied with a shrug. "I'm not the one who broke up with her."

She tsk'ed in response and said, "Ah, you see, the problem is, you _wished_ you were."

Before he could come up with a good answer, the crew was starting to set off by unspoken consensus in order to not be too late for Defence. He joined them since there were simply not enough hours in the day for detention or extra assignments from Professor Finnigan.

On the way out of the Great Hall, he glanced over at the Gryffindor table a last time. Albus had joined his siblings and was busy pointing out something in that book of Lily's from behind his brother's and sister's backs. Lily seemed less than thrilled about the help.

James looked up briefly and down again right away, so Scorpius wasn't sure where he had been looking. He also wasn't sure why he should care. He resolved to focus on studying for the rest of the day and very nearly succeeded.

/

"Professor Babbling, there's something I need to ask you about the upcoming N.E.W.T.s exams and the study plan you gave us last Tuesday."

Scorpius whirled around so quickly in his seat that he wiped his inkwell from his desk.

"Oh goddamn it, Malfoy, would you just watch it, man?" Anthony Prince had involuntarily stopped the well's fall with his shoes which were now flecked with ink, just like the ends of his trousers and the seams of his robes.

"Sorry," Scorpius apologised absently and watched Sarah lean down to the stooped professor's ear to explain her problems with the plans.

"You better be," Prince grumbled and set the now largely empty well back onto Scorpius' desk more forcefully than necessary, then continued his way towards the door.

Instead of following all his classmates to Herbology, Scorpius made to mop up the ink manually, then stowed and re-stowed his parchments, quills, books and the inkwell in his satchel and finally even untied and re-tied his shoes to stall for time.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr Malfoy?" Professor Babbling suddenly asked when she saw him still sitting there, tinkering. Sarah next to her glowered at him as if to dare him to say something wrong.

"I, ah-" He cleared his throat and stood. _Challenge accepted._ "I actually have, uhm, pretty much the same question as Miss Halberman, to be honest. I checked the curriculum for sixth and seventh year Runes lately – I just figured that it's never too early to start planning for the N.E.W.T.s – and -"

"But Mr Malfoy, surely you don't plan on taking Runes as your elective, or do you?" While he had been speaking, the professor's thin eyebrows had crept towards her hairline in an expression that was one third surprise, one third scepticism and one third worry.

"Professor Babbling, if we could just-" Sarah pleaded feebly, but her call went unheard. Scorpius had come up beside her, next to the professor's desk, and was ready to carry this all the way.

"Actually, I do," he answered the professor's question, wiping Sarah's interjection aside. "I know it's not my strongest suit right now by far-"

"And also, you seem to lack a genuine interest in it, really," Babbling added gently enough. "You're diligent, yes, and memorizing doesn't seem to be a problem for you at all, but I doubt you have the passion. Remember what the abbreviation N.E.W.T. actually stands for? That's doubly true for Ancient Runes, believe me. The Education branch of the Ministry is brimful with bitter, mean, old hags who, as far as I can tell, hate students with the fire of a thousand suns. You say you have seen the study plans and the Ministry targets for the degree. Take my advice, Mr Malfoy: Don't do this to yourself. Reconsider."

And that was all she had to say to him. The spectacles went back onto her nose and she finally turned back to Sarah and her less easily manageable problem.

Despite the fact that that was all Professor Babbling had to say to him, she didn't send him away when she resumed her conversation with Sarah who was now decidedly irritated although she tried to cover it. Scorpius loitered, trying to make up his mind as to what he was going to say to her once he caught her on her way out of the classroom.

He pondered on it so hard that he almost missed her as she positively fled the scene.

"Sarah, wait!", was the first thing he came up with on the spot. _Considerably better than the last time anyway._

"No," she shot at him and continued down the corridor at a very brisk pace.

"I just want to talk a bit," he pleaded and then was completely caught by surprise as she whirled around and shoved him against the wall. Not like the last time she had done this – _sadly_, he thought. It was a long time ago already – but rather with the intention to hurt him. Which she almost did.

"I have _nothing_ to say to you," she spat. "Stop running after me. You've already ruined everything." With that, she shouldered her bag and walked away quickly.

He stared after her open-mouthed and yelled "What's that supposed to mean?" only when she was long gone.

"You're going to have to ask her that properly, young man, she probably hasn't heard you," a scholar with a sextant told him from his painting on the other wall, then shrugged and got back to his calculations.

"She'll only run off again before I can get it out of her," he grumbled, then heaved a sigh.

"Ah, ah. Don't ask me for advice on women, lad," the painted man scoffed. "I became a scientist just in order to evade those sorts of problems."

"You're the one who had to make a remark," Scorpius grumbled at him, then shouldered his bag properly and slouched away to Herbology class, trying to come up with a good excuse all the way down to the greenhouses, but failing because, like the astronomer's celestial bodies orbited around the biggest sun, his thoughts insisted on spinning around _her_.

/**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Enjoy!_

/

**-/Chapter 5/-**

/

"I've ruined everything," he mumbled to himself unconsciously as he secured the Quidditch balls in the equipment chest. The strap for one of the bludgers wasn't as tight any more, and Scorpius feared that it was just a matter of time until it would break. The angry-looking ball struggled mightily and the entire case shook and rattled.

"Wha' was tha'?" Tiffany Collins, Slytherin seeker and co-assigned equipment manager for today's training, asked. She was busy stacking up the decoy cones they had used, unruly, annoying pieces of training gear. Enchanted to move in unpredictable patterns as they were, trying to reign them in with magic usually ended in tears, so they had to do it by hand.

"I said: This strap will ruin everything." He pointed.

Tiffany made a noise between a snort and a groan and kept stacking.

"You know," she said after a while, "'t seems to me you need someone te talk to. Like, really, talk."

Scorpius glanced at her, quaffle frozen in his hands. "What do you mean?"

"You've been kinda out of it lately. 'specially today. Even _I_ noticed and I normally don't notice that sorta thing, not without people pointin' it out to me anyways, you know, what I mean?" Her neat pyramid of cones suddenly started to collapse into itself, and she clicked her tongue in dismay trying to fix it.

"'s not to mean that I – you know. Offer an ear or whatever, I'm not good for that sorta thing, neither. But – 'f you got problems with someone, just go an' talk to 'em. You know, what I mean? Jus', we need your head in the game and stuff, with this being me last season and everythin'."

She shrugged, threw her hands in the air and gave up on trying to save her pyramid. Instead, she started anew.

"Next year'll be all full of N.E.W.T.s for me an' me grades aren't so peachy, so I won't have time for playin'. Seems to me we got a proper shot at them preppy Gryffindors this year, with jest a handful of games to come and just one victory behind so far, an' I really don't need you and your, uhm, sulky mood an' the sighing an' the zoning out screwin' it all up for me an' the rest of us."

"Tiffany, I literally don't know what you're talking about," he grumbled with a frown and a biting stare that was an emulation of his dad's. It just didn't have the same effect at all. Tiffany shrugged once more and nodded without looking at him.

"Yeah, you do, Malfoy. You' neva' gonna get the quaffle into that small bludger hole, mate."  
So that was why the bludger made such a ruckus. Lots of space to move around for it in that spacious quaffle hole. He swore under his breath.

"Just look at 'em go," Tiffany murmured and he looked up at her from his task to rearrange the mis-sorted balls and then followed her eyes. "So preppy an' shit."

The Gryffindor team was on the field. They normally never started practise so early that the two teams would meet on the Quidditch grounds – Scorpius glanced at his watch and realised with dismay that it wasn't that the Gryffindors were early, just that he and Tiffany were spectacularly late.

He hadn't even noticed. Too distracted by-

Potter zoomed past them, close enough to create a draft of wind that sent both their hair flying into their faces, side by side with one of the team's chasers, Dale O'Brian. O'Brian did look preppy indeed with his shiny new leather gear and on the newest Lightning model. Everyone who had ever laid eyes on the boy from less than a hundred feet away knew that his family was loaded – nouveau riche Welsh royalty or something or another – and without any of the tact that, say, the Malfoy family had when it came to displaying its wealth.

Potter still insisted on riding his dad's old Firebolt, though, and his dress wasn't much preppier than anyone else's. Despite the old broom, he was keeping up very well with his teammate. Scorpius observed them as they went round and round the pitch at breakneck speed.

"Anyway, I don't want to lose to them snobs, so please just get your shit together quickly, eh?" Tiffany, finally done with her stacking, got up and hauled the stuff toward the equipment room. "Let's get out of here 'afore they accuse us of spying or diversion or whatevs."

Scorpius hastily finished his own work and followed her, his eyes drawn to the two flyers – or one of them, the better of the two – and Tiffany's advice - _If you got problems with someone, just go an' talk to 'em_ – still ringing in his ears.

/

"I should charge you money. Lots and lots of money," Mariella said. He had found her holed up in the back corner of the library, buried in potions books which she was now busy piling up into a wall between herself and him.

"Ella, please. You're the only one who knows, and the only girl I know who understands this kind of stuff." He was glad that they were in the library, really. It gave him an excuse to murmur embarrassing things instead of saying them out loud and enunciating properly.

"Feelings. 'This kind of stuff' is called feelings, and they're not half as complicated as this... goddamn... ugh, I hate Potions. I just hate it. Doesn't make sense, not one bit, why on earth doesn't this work out? I'm supposed to get a bleedin' _balance_ in this line here, why the bloody..." She mumbled and swore on for some time, and Scorpius waited until it subsided, all the while peeking at the tables and the book she was studying. "All I'm getting is variations. Last base variations, no less. Liquid garbage!"

They had dealt with this potion a week ago. It hadn't struck him as particularly problematic, but then again, Mariella didn't have what she called 'brewer's brain'. She forgot or dismissed important details and instead remembered the unimportant ones – and couldn't tell the difference between the two if her life depended on it – which was probably why she was good with intrapersonal problems and interpersonal relationships while being abysmal in Potions.

"Look, Coco," she finally sighed, using a nickname she knew he hated like very few other things. "Everything is pretty straightforward here. You fell for her and then she left you for a better guy."

"Better," he grumbled, and Mariella threw him a look that said '_You_ asked _me_ to help you out here, so stop interrupting me'. Which she then proceeded to actually say out loud, too, and he just nodded sheepishly and bit his tongue.

Potter was older than him. He wasn't really more handsome, though – not like Sarah's previous boyfriends anyway, especially Davies, who was inarguably prettier than half the girls of Hogwarts, and Scorpius himself was often described (by his, uhm, mother) as 'dashing', coming after his paternal grandfather and everything. Potter might be more successful and more talented at Quidditch, and generally a better pupil than he was, and... well, his last name was Potter. But did that make him _better_, per se?

"As I said, you fell for her and then she left you for a better guy. That's the first foul, because she dumped you and we both know how badly you handle loss of control. But now things are over between them. You thought she'd come back to you, but she didn't. So now there's a scratched ego in addition to a confused and broken heart."

"I didn't- I mean..." He trailed off. How could he say this? How could he make her understand?

Mariella eyed him silently from the side, in her usual manner which left it open whether she actually knew he still had something to say and needed time to articulate himself, or was just bored with him and tried to send him away with a piercing look because she couldn't be arsed to waste another word on him.

"I wasn't really aware that I was, uhm. In love. With her," he said instead of what he had meant to say. 'I thought love felt different. Bigger, more important, more – more _everything_' was just too strange and kitschy to say out loud. Especially since he had no reference point. Sarah had been his first. First kiss. First touch. It had to be love.

Right?

If it wasn't that, after all, what else would it be? Even if – in retrospect – it all looked so different from what other people had...

"To quote the great cookie-baking oracle: No one needs to tell you you are in love, you just know it, through and through. So _I_ don't know what you are, but where there's smoke, there's fire – or at least some sort of a smoking charm – and where there's jealousy and your kind of misery and general botheration, there's infatuation."

A long, searching look followed.

"You know, you have to consider the aconite concentration," he said. It rhymed, too.

"What?" She blinked at him and looked down at her tables like a cat searching for an elusive red dot ready to pounce. "What do you mean, aconite concentration?"

"So what I have to do is to get over her, yes?" he asked to move on from the question about whether or not he was actually in love. Also, at least in theory, this new point seemed straightforward enough.

"I'd hope that this was clear to you from the moment she started fusing to James Potter's arm," she shot at him, and then repeated with a desperate tone, "What do you _mean_, aconite concentration?"

"But _you_ said I should go and get her back!" he lamented, knowing full well that it was a stupid thing to say. Mariella's annoyed look also told him as much. He soldiered on regardless. "'Get back at Potter or get her back or _whatever' _were your exact words. So that's... kind of... what I tried, and look where it got me." Stupid with a dash of petulance.

"Hang on. You got back at Potter, too?" She frowned, slightly worried and, uncharacteristically, curious. "How?"

He sighed. "You have to mind the fact that the aconite concentration is lower than normal in this case. It's diluted, so you can't just start adding stuff with the normal formula."

"I – what? Just _what?_"

"It says so in the case description, Mariella. It's _whitened_ aconite," - he pointed at the line, reaching over the wall of books - "that means it's thinned with water or alcohol four or five to one. If you just add the normal twenty spoons you calculated from your conversion table, your concoction doesn't have enough aconite to dissolve the mistletoe berries, which will result in a super-complicated formula, a big, gooey mess and possibly a ruined cauldron once the berry juice starts getting acidic."

Mariella stared at her notes and the book in front of her, and eventually uttered, "Huh".

"So what do I do?"

"About what?" She was already busy erasing her calculations from her parchment, tip of her tongue between her lips.

"About the, uhm." He looked around to see if anyone had heard, but no one was nearby. "The confused broken heart?"

"As you said, just get over her." The '_You can piss off now_' was implied.

"Yes, but _how_?"

"It's thinned by a factor of at least three point five, which means I have to, uhm, square this with the factor seven. You could go and sleep with her best friend. Seven, right?"

He took a few seconds to ascertain whether she was serious, then determined that she was, in fact, not, and that it was inadvisable to deign a response. "Any other possible methods?"

"Bond with her ex. Exes. All of them. Start a death metal band. Write songs about love, entrails and vengeance. If I equalise this with the seven, we have one ounce instead of seventy, which makes a lot more sense, really. Hogwarts is on a budget, after all. And the result is actually divisible by three. Goodness gracious."

"I love you too, Mariella."

"That's because you're barmy, Coco. Now go find out how to deal with disappointment- preferably far away from me." Before he actually got up, she punched his shoulder, none too lightly, and said, "Thanks for the help, it bloody makes sense now, can you believe this?" and he smiled even though she didn't look up to see it.

When he went to bed that night, _bond with her ex_ and _a better guy _sat on the shelf right next to_ If you got problems with someone, just go an' talk to 'em._

It occurred to him that he had never really talked to Potter in his entire life. After all, What would have been the point? Sixth years don't talk to seventh years. The commonality doesn't talk to the celebrity. Apart from living at Hogwarts together, their lives didn't overlap... at least he supposed so.

He turned around to face away from Anthony Prince's incessant sleep-mumbling that came from the bed next to his.

If he _had_ talked to him, maybe he would have found out exactly why Sarah had wanted to be with James Potter so badly. Because, it also occurred to him, he didn't have a clue. He had never asked her about it. He didn't even know how or since when he had known that James Potter was Sarah Halberman's dream guy, it had just been common knowledge to him – and the rest of Hogwarts – since roughly third year. Just like everyone knew that the Forbidden Forest was dangerous, or that Professor Smith was an awful old Scrooge, or who had made the portable swamp near the headmistress' office that would never be cleaned away.

When he fell asleep he was still asking himself why she had wanted Potter so much more than him. He needed information, that much was clear. To put his mind at rest.

When he turned on the water for his early morning shower, the shower head yelped and moaned in a faintly familiar manner. From then on, the similarity would strike him every single morning.

/**TBC  
**


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Things are about to get... questionable. Please enjoy!  
_

/

**-/Chapter 6/-**

/

"Do you have a problem with me?"

A shadow had fallen over his History textbook. He looked up and blinked against the sun.

"You've been following me. It's getting a little annoying."

James Potter's voice was quite deep, so he didn't understand how such a noise could ever happen. He knitted his brows.

"Why would I be following you?" he eventually asked back. Who had been the wise ass who said _Y__ou can't overtake someone if you're following in his footsteps_ anyway?

"Malfoy, Slytherin practice has been over for more than an hour now. Please shove off. The others are annoyed by you."

"You know, if I were the others, I'd be more embarrassed than annoyed by anyone watching me fly, really." He didn't even know why he said that. It was much harsher than it needed to be. It just came out so easily. "Tate there looks like the broom just slid up his-"

"Please?" Potter said with emphasis and still sounded really calm, but Scorpius had seen his fingers clench a little around the handle of that antique if well-kept Firebolt of his. He wondered if Sarah had only crushed on him because he was the cool, composed guy whose patience never snapped and who never raised his voice. Girls liked that kind of stuff, didn't they?

He wondered just what it would take to make Potter lose his temper.

"I'm just doing my history homework," he said by the way of an answer. "This place is as good as any, isn't it?" Except for the cold wind – spring wasn't particularly warm or spring-y this year – as well as the occasional faraway yell echoing from the flyers, and now the shadow of Potter falling on him, nothing disturbed his concentration.

Potter rolled his eyes and apparently contemplated several courses of action before he settled for a "Suit yourself. I'd appreciate if you stopped following me." Then he turned around, walked two steps and finally leapt onto his broom to rejoin his teammates.

"I didn't follow you," Scorpius said when he was already gone. "I just happened to want to go where you've gone shortly before today." Library, Great Hall, Gryffindor Tower, Quidditch Pitch. He wondered at which point he had noticed. He'd been so careful not to be seen in Gryffindor Tower. That chameleon spell of his worked faultlessly.

And yet, all his following had done nothing to bring him so much as an inch further in his investigation. Potter did all the things he himself did, in almost the same way, despite even the age difference, the different classes, the different houses. There was nothing _special_ about him at all.

Scorpius tried to go back to the Confederation of Giants of 1508 and the Gigantic Resolution of '09, but the pages were now too glaring with sunlight, so he stowed the book away and left. For some reason he was angry.

The following Tuesday, the whole thing repeated itself. He went where James Potter went, ended up at the Quidditch pitch long after Slytherin practice was over, and then Potter asked him to stop stalking him and to leave, and claimed that the team – apparently not including himself – wanted him gone from the field.

While the outcome seemed the same, Scorpius became aware of an unbearable impatience festering inside of him when he was stomping back to the castle. The problem was that he had no idea _what_ he was waiting for.

/

"I'm afraid you'll have to learn these by heart, Lils. The old-fashioned way. Can't help you with that."

"Uuugh," Scorpius heard her frustrated groan from his spot in aisle three. Then she piped up, "I'll ask Al, then."

"He'll just tell you the same thing," Potter said to his sister. Scorpius heard smugness in his voice, very faint.

"You're so _mean_," Lily whined. She was already walking away, possibly setting out to finding her other brother for purportedly better counsel.

"I'm not mean!" Potter called after her and received a sharp "Shhh!" from the librarian's desk. After a short silence – Scorpius imagined Potter ducking his head, embarrassed by the reprimand – he added a muted, "I'm just honest."

From behind the shelf it was impossible to tell how it was meant, but Scorpius couldn't help the idea that there was more to that last comment. Hadn't he also sounded a bit- sad? Disappointed, maybe? Glum?

"Are you following me again?" his voice suddenly rang out _very_ nearby. Scorpius flinched and the book he had been mock-putting back on the shelf for several minutes slipped from his fingers and landed on the foot he didn't manage to pull away fast enough. He yowled and got_ shhh_'ed as well. He crouched on the floor holding the injured body part.

"It's neither Tuesday nor Friday." Potter crossed his arms. From the lower angle, he looked positively menacing. "You normally only follow me on Tuesdays and Fridays. Is it becoming rampant now?"

"It was a coincidence today," Scorpius bit out. Of course the book he had dropped had to be a Herbology tome titled 'The Rock Book of Rock Plants', with a spine that looked – and felt – like it had been made out of solid concrete. His index toe which had taken the brunt of the impact was throbbing.

"So you're admitting that on Tuesdays and Fridays it's really not a coincidence." A statement. Scorpius bit his lip and didn't react.

"Do you _have_ a problem with me?" Potter asked again, like he did every Tuesday and Friday, although he rephrased it sometimes.

Scorpius ground his teeth instead of answering and got upright again. He wriggled his toes in his shoes. Bruised but not broken. _Bit like your ego_, Mariella would have said with a click of the tongue.

He pointedly didn't answer the question.

"Is this about Sarah Halberman?"

Of course it was about Sarah Halberman.

But on the other hand... was it really? He wasn't that certain at all any more, although there seemed to be no good reason for this kind of doubt.

"I know she was with you before she was with me and all that, even though you somehow managed to keep it a secret," Potter said and looked around as if to see if anyone was in hearing distance. "However, I can't see how this continues to be a problem for you now that it's over between her and I as well."

"Why did you break up?" He didn't even mean to ask, but then his mouth did it anyway.

Potter knitted his brows. "How's that your business?"

Scorpius shrugged. "Just is." _Really isn't._

"No, I don't think so." He was about to leave.

"I asked her about it," Scorpius said, stressing the 'her'.

Potter froze in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at him. "And?" he prompted, and just like before, when he said 'I'm just honest', there seemed to be something _more_ underneath. This time – Curiosity? No, something more anxious. Alarm?

"And _nothing_," he shrugged again. "Told me to piss off."

Potter's eyes narrowed. "That should tell you something, then."

"Tells me that it's... you know. Something _big_." _Brilliant deduction, Sherlock, but I think you might be out of your depth here._

"Tells you that it's none of your business," Potter shot back, audibly struggling to keep his voice down, and turned away from him.

Scorpius decided to not give up so easily and followed him – with a slight limp – as he went back to the aisle in which his N.E.W.T. materials were strewn about an otherwise unoccupied table. Although the work hardly looked done, he started packing, which struck Scorpius as suspicious.

"Well, _I_ think it is my business. I still care about her, you know?"

This was true. In the most abstract way, at least. He hadn't consciously seen her for two days now, hadn't spoken to her since the incident by the misogynistic scientist's painting and yesterday had gone by with him hardly thinking about her at all.

But he cared.

Why else would he be doing this, after all?

"I don't see how that's relevant." Potter dropped his own book – not on his toe, though – and mumbled under his breath as he crawled under the table to retrieve it.

"I mean, I – I just take an interest in the things that... that were done to her," Scorpius said, immensely aware that this sounded seriously creepy and a tad retarded. Then again, Potter didn't really listen.

"If you're still into her, that's between you and _her._" Potter threw the lid of his book bag close after stuffing the fugitive book in as well and turned around to face him. Scorpius noticed that the Gryffindor was at least eight centimetres taller than him, maybe even nine. He had known he was taller, but it was surprised that it was by this much. Not that he himself was especially short.

Before Scorpius could actually answer, Potter added, "You were more her type anyway," and pushed past him with those long legs of his, halfway out the door before Scorpius could even react properly.

He cursed inwardly, zipped back into the aisle he had come from to retrieve his own bag and stormed after him as well as the nine intact and one defective toe would allow. Madam Pince threw him an icy look as he went but he didn't have the time to worry about that now.

"What did you mean by that?" he demanded when he was in hearing range again. He had almost got away, taking the road less travelled, up the stairs and to the left instead of straight ahead. Gryffindor common room via the Astronomy tower, very unusual. At least five minutes longer, too.

"Get lost. Please," Potter said with grave exasperation.

"I will, once people stop making mysterious remarks and not explain them afterwards," Scorpius grumbled, wondering why every conversation he had seemed to swerve so wildly these days.

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy!" Potter exclaimed – not angrily, but vehemently vexed - stopped abruptly in his tracks and whirled around.

Scorpius stayed a few steps away from him, just in case he was planning on shoving him against a wall as well. Being two and a half inches taller and a year older, that would be easy for him.

But he didn't. He wouldn't. _Of course he wouldn't._

"What do you _want_ from me?" Not anger. He held the reigns too tightly for anger. It was annoyance at best.

Scorpius opened his mouth and waited for something to come out, but nothing did. Potter looked at him with his dark green eyes, demanding an answer silently. "I wanted to ask about Sarah," Scorpius finally managed. It felt like a lie, even though it wasn't. Was it?

"And you already know that she and I broke up weeks ago, yet you're still keeping after me, and now this. I told you, and she also told you, the reasons for her and my breakup are none of your business whatsoever. So you'll have to live with that, I'm afraid."

As quickly as this lidded outburst had come, it was already over and well in control again. It was strangely disappointing.

"Will you stop stalking me now?" Potter sounded like he was talking to a baby. "Please?"

Scorpius ground his teeth. _Maybe that's what made him the better guy_, Scorpius thought. Even when he was insulting, he was polite.

He hated it. Utterly hated it.

He watched Potter leave without finding another word to say.

_What do you _want_ from me?_

His feet began to move just as Potter vanished behind the corner. He pulled his wand and charmed his footsteps noiseless, then pointed it at his own chest. The chameleon spell seemed to take its creeping hold even more slowly than usual. When his silent feet finally matched the background completely and seamlessly, he had fallen into a run and caught sight of Potter again. The other had slowed down somewhat, now that he thought himself not pursued any more.

Before he could descend the set of stairs that would lead him back to the main staircases from which many voices and the shuffling of heels could be heard, Scorpius flung the spell at his back. He didn't know and couldn't say why he did it. It just overcame him. Calor Cupiditatis.

Potter went rigid immediately and then hastily retreated from the staircase back into the corridor. For the first time, Scorpius could see more than his back as he ran away. His jaw was set and there was a feverish glow in his eyes. His movements were tense and strangely robotic. His right hand was clamped over his crotch protectively.

"James?" someone called out from the staircase.

Potter looked over his shoulder in a nervous motion, got out his wand and quickly opened a door with an Alohomora. It seemed to be some sort of broom closet. He vanished into it, pulling the door shut behind himself.

After a few seconds, Scorpius inched closer to it because something drew him, pulled and pushed him toward it. In the end his ear was pressed to the door, near the keyhole through which a stream of cold air was flowing.

At first he heard nothing at all.

Then, there was a groan. It wasn't as deep as he thought it would be. It also was completely different from the noises he sometimes heard in a boy's dorm, but he couldn't say why.

The groan was followed by a sudden silence, and then a sobbed swearword.

A crackling feeling zapped up his spine. Scorpius hastily crawled away from the door. "Holy shit," he whispered to himself.

_I made James Sirius Potter curse._

Potter, slightly red-faced, exited the closet without another look back, even leaving the door ajar. Quickly he was around the corner down the stairs and gone, like a murderer fleeing the scene of the crime.

Scorpius remained camouflaged in his spot until his heartbeat normalized. Then, he walked back the way he had come, seeing the chameleon-spell wane in the process and his feet reappear in sight, the taps of his heels returning one foot after the other.

In his head, that sobbed swearword echoed and echoed in circles, mixed with that sighed cry he had evoked all those weeks ago when he had slapped his shoulder. A miserable substitute of which he heard every morning when he showered, reminding him again and again, keeping the memory fresh.

But how could he hear him curse once more? Because he knew he wanted to hear it again.

James Potter needed to lose his cool, Scorpius was convinced of it, convinced that it was his own way to closure.

Hidden underneath that perfectly maintained façade of calmness, under that image of the impervious guy who the girls adored, there was a man who wasn't better at all, a man who groaned and swore and lost his fake countenance when he came. Someone not more deserving of Sarah Halberman's attention than he was.

Scorpius desperately needed to see that man.

/

He took one of the larger pieces of scrap parchment from the hand-basket on Madam Pince's desk, and one of the quills that could be borrowed there. It was his luck that the librarian wasn't at her desk that second. He remembered her acidulous look and wagered that he wasn't in her good graces.

He took the utensils to a table in the fourth aisle, slid onto the chair without even putting down his bag, dipped the quill into one of the two inkwells on the table and started writing.

/**TBC**

_Every time you write a review, a fanfic-writer gets their wings...or something like that. Leave a review, that would make me happy! :) _


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Like, really questionable.  
_

/

**-/Chapter 7/-**

/

"Why are you doing this?"

The voice rang out so brusquely and suddenly that Scorpius dropped the cone he was holding. His pyramid promptly collapsed.

"Doing what?" he eventually inquired, trying his hardest to sound innocent while at the same time his voice shook with anger. He had almost been done. These goddamn cones. He didn't understand why Christopher insisted on using them, they weren't very effective for their training, in his opinion, and such a pain in the arse to store away again. There was a reason why none of the other teams used them, and none had since the 1970s or something.

And also, Potter's mere presence set his teeth on edge.

"Why would you- why would you write something like this?" He held the piece of scrap paper in a stranglehold. The piece of paper Scorpius had scribbled a note on at the library and sent to him yesterday evening. Not without making sure it was entirely untraceable, of course, which was fortunate because the singed corners and the dark red spots on it told him that Potter had indeed tried to retrace it.

For a second, he feared that he had been successful.

"Something like _what_?" he asked, face pointedly blank. "What is that?"

"You know exactly _what that_ is," Potter seethed, but not like other people would seethe. He did it in such a controlled manner that it almost hurt to watch. Scorpius felt anger rising.

"Actually, I don't," he said. "From here, it looks suspiciously like a perfectly ordinary piece of parchment, though. And I would assume that there are words on it." He held out his hand. "Can I see?"

"No!" Potter rushed to crumple the paper and thrust it into his pocket, out of his or anyone's sight.

He dropped his hand. "Then I'm afraid I can't help you, Potter." He tried to sound unconcerned but ended up sounding gruff instead.

Potter missed a beat and ended up saying, "Great." For the third time, there was more beneath the word itself, just out of sight. Something with an edge of desperation. _So he obviously couldn't really trace it at all. He just guessed. _Scorpius breathed an inward sigh of relief and decided to not let him get away that easily this time with his cryptic, monosyllabic remarks. "Do _you_ have a problem with _me_ now?"

"You followed me from the library yesterday afternoon," Potter said, but nothing after that.

Scorpius tilted his head. "Yeah. And? Is that an accusation of some sort?"

"You came after me. After we stopped talking." He sounded like he was fighting off the upward inflection, almost wrestling the sentence into a firm statement instead of letting it be the wild guess it was.

"What? No!" He looked him in the eyes knowing that he would appear a liar if he didn't. "After you took off, I went back to the library. I _was_ there for studying, you know?" And that wasn't completely untrue anyway. "Why?" he added, even cocking an eyebrow for the full appearance of curiosity. "Did you get robbed on your way back to the tower or what?"

Potter pondered his answer, frowning, not bothering to answer his last question either, chewing on his own tongue. Scorpius suddenly itched with wrapping his hands around that neck of his until he would spit it out. Spit everything out that he always bit back and swallowed down instead of saying it because he was trying to be so polite and so cool and he somehow managed to convince everyone around him that that was his natural state.

No one else seemed to see that James Sirius Potter was faking it all. _Bloody liar._

"Look," Scorpius sighed, "I have literally no idea what this is about, but if I need to provide an alibi or something, ask Tiffany. I met her on my way out of the library yesterday." He nodded toward his teammate who was walking toward the two of them with the ball trunk under one arm and her broom under the other, looking tousled but very pleased with herself. She had finally caught that one elusive bludger that Thomas had hit so hard it had vanished in the woods. Granted, the bludger had been a bit addled before. Someone needed to reapply the charm soonish.

Potter visibly ground his teeth yet said nothing. Nothing.

"Malfoy, what are you standing around like that for?" Tiffany called him. "It's twenty past, let's wrap this up in a timely manner today, aye?"

"Aye," he answered, then turned back to the wordless Potter. "Are we done with the interrogation? Or are _you_ stalking _me_ now?"

James didn't deign a response and stomped off to the cabins to get properly geared up for the upcoming training.

"What did that one want?" Tiffany watched him go. Scorpius couldn't help but notice that even his rough-and-ready tomboy of a teammate was smitten with Potter. He recognised the appreciative cadence in her voice and the longing look that trailed upward to the hair and downward to the buttocks and the long legs, both of which were accentuated by the training trousers he was already wearing.

"He didn't want to tell," he mumbled back, knowing that she wasn't really listening anyway.

Scorpius went back to his cones – Tiffany was in a good mood and helped him – and oddly wished Potter had decked him instead of just taking it.

/

_Sunday afternoon, trophy room on the west wing's sixth floor, 2 p.m._ That's what the note said. Among other things.

He knew that Hufflepuff Quidditch training ended Sundays at twelve and Ravenclaw training didn't start until three, and that all study groups met earlier than lunchtime. He had made sure that absolutely anyone could have written it.

It was ten to two when he was all set up. He was invisible and his footsteps were silent.

The former trophy room was empty. It was visibly unused for maybe decades. Golden sunlight slanted into the chamber with the low ceiling, motes of dust danced soundlessly in the rays. The shelves that had once housed prize cups, bowls and medals of gold and silver were now empty but for some dusty piles of books – history books for fifth year, appropriately historic and mildew-stained, several dozen of them – and the fixtures for the long gone trophies.

Once upon a time, the shelves had stood along the walls to form a large open space in the middle between them, but for some reason someone had pulled them into the room so they divided it into three segments, the slimmer, outer two of which were accessible only through narrow gaps between the shelves. Said shelves stood like large and looming if dusty guardians, intricately carved from solid wood.

A broom and a bucket stood in the corner, as if Filch had mistaken the room for a broom closet once and then forgotten his equipment. Scorpius had misappropriated the bucket to sit on it. From the place right behind the door the entire room could be easily observed without much movement. He got as comfortable as he could and waited.

Several times he thought he heard footsteps. They came a little closer, but then went away again. He attempted to check his watch several times only to be reminded over again that the chameleon spell affected his clothes and shoes as well as the accessories.

He looked on as the bright rectangles on the floor wandered glacially in a half circle and asked himself what on earth he was doing.

Before he had found an answer, the door opened with an oily screech.

Potter inched into the room, looking around darkly and nervously.

When he was inside, Scorpius drew his wand and spelled the door to fall shut heavily and abruptly. Potter jumped, backed away from the door, dropped his bag and drew his own wand in the same motion but didn't know into which direction to point it.

"I got your little message," he began, obviously unsure. "You wrote you wanted to talk. So let's talk."

Scorpius waited until he had stepped well away from the door, then pointed his wand at the shelf in the other corner of the room and made one of the history books slide down from its stack. The thundering slap it made when it hit the ground had Potter whirling. A shower of bright sparks rushed out of his wand, hissing as it rained down on the floor and died there.

"Okay, this isn't funny," James said. He was audibly rattled.

Scorpius clenched and unclenched his fist, unsure. This was exciting, but confusing. It didn't feel good.

"Show yourself. Tell me what you want from me, and tell me to my face."

Scorpius watched his flailing from his crouched position by the door. He readjusted his grip to make sure that his wand was firmly in his hand.

"I know who you are."

A lie, he knew, but it hit Scorpius all the same. Below the imperfect excitement, there now was a twinge of fear.

"Do you really think that I'm letting you blackmail me or something?" He made a show of putting his wand into his inner coat pocket. "It's really not that embarrassing at all, you know? Every single boy in this school tosses off regularly. Nothing to be ashamed of, really."

Another lie. They were surrounded by prudes, and they both knew it. Scorpius didn't even want to think of what would happen should anyone find out about that spell he had been using on Sarah and was now using on Potter. Expulsion would probably be a kindness. What would happen should anyone find out what he was doing, what he _wanted_, didn't even bear thinking about. So he didn't think about it.

And Potter – Potter was scared for his image. Understandably. He had built and carefully maintained it, and then successfully sold it to everyone for almost seven long years, so of course he wouldn't want to see it collapse now that he was coming down the stretch. Stoic people don't have a wank, and they don't moan and curse, either.

He was so scared that he had come here. By himself.

"But you know what's really wrong and embarrassing? Voyeurism."

Potter paced into the one direction, and then back again, always looking around. "Because that's what only a pervert does. A voyeur. You're a voyeur, aren't you?"

He lowered his voice and almost looked Scorpius' way when he said, quietly, gravely, "You got off on watching me jerk off."

The next time he turned around, the spell sunk into his back. Scorpius put the wand back into his coat pocket as if it were a smoking gun.

Potter doubled over a little and let out a soft groan.

All his movements seemed to slow down. He stepped to the side, turned away and leaned his shoulder against the shelf, making the fixtures rattle, sagging against it as if he were tired.

From his vantage point, Scorpius could only imagine his fingers fumbling with his pants, the belt, the button, the fly. His back was to him. Finally, he heard the zip.

Then, a soft, wet sound. Over and over, urgent and increasing in speed. So very familiar.

He could only see Potter's elbow moving rhythmically. He could see his ear and a thin slice of his neck, and he imagined both to be red, flushed.

Potter's erratic breathing and those quick, moist sounds were the only noises for a while. Scorpius was holding his own breath to not miss the slightest thing.

Eventually, a deep, low moan rose.

Then, a stifled cry and breath. No swearwords this time.

Then everything became still. As still as things normally only get after a raging storm.

Potter rearranged his clothes in robotic movements, snatched his bag off the ground and fled without another look anywhere.

Scorpius remained sitting on the upturned bucket for some time. He hoped his thoughts would sort themselves out, and that the arousal he felt would subside.

All that happened was that his feet went numb. At least the wild thumping of his heart let up after a while.

He went to the library and buried himself in advanced Charms texts until Madam Pince threw him out with some decidedly unfriendly words that hardly even registered with him. The next morning, he found two feet of notes for a homework assignment that was due at the end of the month – the distant future, in pupils' terms – on his study parchment. In his own handwriting. He remembered writing them, but hardly a word of _what_ he had written.

Uncharacteristically, he went to take a long, hot shower that evening before going to bed, and another one in the morning. His room-mates noticed and joked about how he was stepping up his scholastic achievements and his personal hygiene to impress a girl.

/

Two sets. Two sets of cones this time, and he'd been late because Professor Smith was a dickhead, so here he was, clearing two sets of cones away all by himself when everyone was long gone. _Go_ _team_.

The audience he had was hard to ignore. Tiffany might hate the Gryffindors for being preppy and be half-convinced that, should they win the cup this year, it would all be due to the shiny leather of O'Brian's boots, but their training was hard and effective. Unsurprisingly, there were no cones involved in it, either.

Potter had a commander's voice. It carried through the drizzly afternoon with a fierceness that made it really hard to stack those stupid cones instead of looking up and following the movements of the seven blurs that were whizzing around the hoops in formations.

He stacked on with his bottom lip between his teeth.

He knew he should be glad that Potter hadn't come to ask him to leave like he normally did. After all, it was clear what he was doing, and that it needed to be done or else the cones would go flying all over the place eventually. It was useless equipment, alright, but it was the school's useless equipment. It was about the principle.

At the same time, it was quite vexing that they all just ignored him. He could be spying on their tactics easily. In fact, he was listening to Potter's conducting the chasers around in the air in a series of moves that was blatantly copied off the Romanian national team. It was the Randunica formation the Romanians had used in last year's final of the world cup several times, lacking only countless months of training, finesse and a player like Miruna Vanturel who could do that under-the-broom-pass-while-going-parallel-to-the-goalposts- move that had stumped the Irish defence every single time and almost cost them the victory. Tate was not anywhere near _that_ good, and judging by Potter's tone of voice, he knew it well enough.

Punishment for his eavesdropping followed swiftly, in form of a beater's bat crashing into his almost finished cone pyramid from above without so much as a warning. Like a meteorite.

It sent the cones spraying into all directions and made Scorpius jump onto his feet and take three hasty steps back as he shouted an expletive.

Just when he looked up to see whose fault it was, he heard a low "Accio bat" right behind him.

The bat lifted itself into the air and tried to fly to the person who had called it. In doing so, it circumnavigated the obstacle in its way – one Scorpius Malfoy, rigid with surprise – by nutmegging him. Simultaneously, the slight upward curve of the trajectory, caused by Potter being four feet in the air on his broom, resulted in the hilt of the bat hitting Scorpius right where it hurt.

He yelled out and bent over double, both hands reflexively protecting his most sensitive parts. Only when he arrived down there did he notice that the hit hadn't been hard. More of a glancing blow. Missing all the most painful spots, too. He snapped back up with another swearword on his tongue.

But Potter, bat in hand, was already on his way back up to his team – which had obviously picked up on the exchange, judging by O'Brian's toothpaste-advertisement grin – with a dismissive and disingenuous, "Whoops. So sorry, Malfoy," and not even a look back.

Scorpius' hand was on his wand that sat in its leather sheath on his right thigh.

Two words would suffice to make Potter the laughing stock of his entire team. Not even his commanding bass voice would repair the damage that a spontaneous boner would do to his authority. Then again, maybe the spell would cause him to tip over and fall right off his broom, but that flippant 'Whoops' really made Scorpius want to embrace that possibility.

Then, however, he remembered Sunday. Sunday, trophy room on the west wing's sixth floor, 2 p.m.

His fingers unclenched, the wand stayed put. Potter joined his team, nothing happened.  
"Just you wait," Scorpius mumbled at him and began the cone pyramids once more. By the time he was done, anger and determination were hot in his belly, as if he had swallowed a bunch of live embers that had been fanned every single time Potter's voice rang out.

He went to the owlery instead of the dungeons, ripped a strip of bare parchment from the bottom of his potions essay and scrawled a blunt and obscene message onto it, obscene enough to assure that Potter would keep it to himself, blunt enough to make sure that he would show up. As usual, he performed all the spells to defy any tracing magic that might reveal the sender.

With the help of some owl treats and a long session of neck scratching and feather petting, he instructed the smartest-looking owl to deliver the message not right away, but on Sunday at noon. He wanted to be present in the Great Hall for lunch and see him get it. As a nice side effect, he'd have an alibi. Not that it was airtight, but anyway.

As he watched the owl retreat to one of the higher beams, he imagined Potter receiving that mail. He imagined him getting really angry when he finally read it through, in the privacy of his room, and rage about that voyeuristic jerk who dared to humiliate and blackmail him. He imagined Potter cursing and throwing breakable things against the walls.

Scorpius slept really well that night.

/**TBC**

_Reviews of any shape and form are much appreciated!_


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Thanks to NeverthelessTwin and ice-queen for reviews and compliments - they are my favourite thing :)_

_This one is woefully short, but I couldn't help it. Sorry. I tried balancing it with... uhm, kinky smut. Enjoy!_

/

**Chapter 8**

/

He had taken precautions. He had prepared.

The chameleon spell lasted exactly thirty-one minutes in full effect, maximum. His face became fully visible about three minutes after that.

He had done research on some stunning curses, just in case, and some voice-altering spells. In the end, he had even found one that turned the volume of his voice down to almost nothing – nigh on inaudible even for himself – while at the same time allowing for magic that required enunciation. "Very handy," he said to himself admiringly, but no sound reached his ears, which was more than a little unnerving, really.

He made doubly sure that it wasn't just a spell that made him unable to hear his own voice, and that it lasted longer than ten minutes. It passed the test and earned him a pointedly disapproving look from Mariella who clearly thought he was behaving like an idiot.

She also looked after him with a curious side glance when he left the Slytherin common room on Sunday at half past one with the air of someone who was going on an adventure that was also a death match.

Potter was early as well. He all but burst into the room, swinging the door open as far as it could go. Scorpius had anticipated it – after seeing his face go as dark as a storm cloud when he received the owl during lunch, followed by a grim-faced, hasty departure, he had known that he was very upset – and settled on the opposite wall this time, on the wall below the windows. This way, the door was in full view, and so was Potter, who entered the room with wand outstretched - the attack stance Professor Finnigan taught his students in third year.

"I've _had_ it with you," Potter began, and even though he couldn't know whether he was talking to an empty room or not, his voice was cutting and determined. Not angry, of course. Not entirely.

_Not yet._

"What kind of twisted bastard are you? Huh?" His eyes were scanning the room, brushing over Scorpius again and again without seeing him.

If there was such a thing as calm excitement, Scorpius was feeling it right now. "I'm going to make you pay," he told Potter with his inaudible voice and was almost glad that not even he himself could hear it. It was one of these things that were better when left unspoken, as abstracts floating in the crevices of one's brain.

"If I ever get another message like this, I'll-"

The resounding bang of the door falling shut behind him and then the sharp click of a lock cut his sentence short. He whirled around, then whirled right back with an agitated look on his face. "Merlin, girl, you're sick in your head."

Scorpius laughed. Potter thinking that he was being shown up by a female was actually even better.

"You need help."

"So do you," he answered silently, stood up from his crouching position and stepped towards him, with his wand in his hand as well. Pointing.

Instead of using a spell to disarm him, he spontaneously decided to just pluck the wand from Potter's hand.

In theory, it was a good idea. He had surprise and invisibility on his side, after all.

In practise, Potter's grasp of his weapon was much firmer than it had seemed. Scorpius tugged but Potter didn't let go. Instead, he even pulled the wand toward himself in a rapid movement – and effectively pulled the unseen assailant at the other end of it right along – while simultaneously lowering his shoulder for a quick surprise tackle. Like a rugby player.

Because Scorpius was invisible, Potter ended up mostly tackling past him, catching only his right side and his right arm and then glancing off with a yell as he ran into thin air.

The unpredicted counter attack seemed to short-circuit Scorpius' brain. Before he could even finish another thought, he reaffirmed the grip on his own wand – which Potter hand almost tackled out of his hand – yelled "Expelliarmus!", and then "Repulso!", and then "Agglutinum!", all without a sound, and Potter reeled backward into one of the bookshelves with such force that the piece of solid wood furniture slid half an inch backward across the floor with a squeaking groan. The very same moment, James lost hold of his wand. It hit the low ceiling and the floor and finally rolled under another shelf, out of sight and reach.

The third spell caused the sleeves and back of Potter's jacket and the backs of his trouser legs to be glued fast to the wood behind him. They would be for at least another two minutes, Scorpius knew. That spell wasn't the most effective. If he had had just another moment more to think it through, he certainly wouldn't have used it. But now it was done.

Potter cursed as he gave his stuck clothes frantic jerks. He cursed _loudly_.

_Finally._

"You fucking lunatic! Are you completely fucked in the head!?" he spat. "Un-stick me. Right now. Right _bloody_ now, or I'll-"

And then he actually started yelling for help. With that voice of his that he used to conduct three chasers and a beater across the expanse of a Quidditch pitch.

Scorpius moved to clamp his hand over his mouth out of reflex and panic, but then didn't, thinking that he might bite him.

So instead, he set the tip of his wand onto Potter's chest and mouthed, "Calor Cupiditatis."

The yelling ceased at once. Instead, a hoarse little "Oh, no" escaped James' mouth as the spell took over.

For all his being stuck to the shelf behind him like a butterfly in a spider's web, the change of his posture was a marvel to watch - from attack mode to attempted full defence within seconds.

When before he had tried to unbutton his jacket to fight himself free, his shoulders now lowered and his arms and hands strained against the sleeves in vain to cover himself, his knees turned inward and his hip was tilted back to hide and protect his middle.

His chest started to heave and fall rapidly. A distinct redness crept onto his cheeks, spread to his throat and vanished down his collar. The angry fire in his eyes was replaced by a glaze, a sheen of fever. Scorpius could even see his pupils dilate as his eyes went wide open.

Like in the textbook. Only _more_.

Scorpius thought of Friday, and of that beater's bat incident and the humiliation he had felt. He thought of that "Just you wait", and of O'Brian's stupid ass grin, and of Potter turning his back.

Just like Potter had ignored him that day, he now ignored the loud yelling in his head as he promptly came up with the most frightening and hurtful way to charge. To pay him back.

So he just grabbed Potter's undefended crotch with his right hand. Hard.

/**TBC**

_This chapter break was brought to you by Nia. Thank you, Nia! :)  
_


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations (like, honestly now...)

_Thanks to ice-queen and NeverthelessTwin for reviews that just make my day, and to greenerwhereyouwater for following this silly story of mine._

_Some more kinky smut, y'all!_

/

**Chapter 9**

/

There it was again, that improbable noise, that yell-sigh-moan that was really completely different than the meagre little yelp his shower gave. It was also completely different from that time he remembered, on the track from the Quidditch pitch to the castle. In here, where it was only the two of them in a low-ceilinged abandoned chamber, he could feel it deep in his stomach.

Potter's face was panic-stricken. He was now standing on tiptoes, trying to evade that invisible hand that was clutching his most sensitive parts. Twitching helplessly.

Scorpius didn't let go. He couldn't, he didn't want to. There was a fascination to this, to the sight of Potter dancing scared, that drowned out everything else, everything, so he squeezed a little harder to hear him moan once more. But this time, Potter screwed his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip, as if he wanted to keep everything to himself, inside.

And then he thrust his hip and Scorpius almost jumped – he may or may not have gasped, he didn't know – and pulled his hand away.

Potter exhaled mightily and let his head fall back until it hit the wood behind him. His Adam's apple bobbed. His legs were shaking. His fingers curled around the bookshelf struts.

Everything was different now.

Scorpius found himself shaking as well. Mostly, he felt like he was trembling inside. Like after that time he had flown that breakneck manoeuvre on his new White Lightning and almost killed himself. Only – more.

Or that one time with Sarah in detention, two floors, four weeks and a million miles away now.

Only, impossibly, much more.

"Please," Potter breathed, and then nothing else. It wasn't unambiguously _please no_ or _please stop_. It also wasn't _more please_.

Scorpius didn't know what to do. Everything was now uncertain.

Somehow, he wanted to _please_, but he didn't know, how. Or why.

As he stood there, petrified, overwhelmed and _scared_, the glue finally dissolved. It turned out that Potter had been held on his feet mostly by the adhesive powers of the spell. His unsteady legs gave way as he slowly slid to the floor, fighting himself loose from the residual stickiness with the help of gravity.

Sitting there, he undid his belt without much hesitation, pried open the button and unzipped the fly, fingers hasty and shaking. His head fell back again, eyes screwed shut, as his right hand slid under the waistband of his pants. He sighed with relief at the contact.

Scorpius couldn't help but listen, and stare, paralysed by the entirety of the moment.

To him, it almost looked like he was in pain. The lines around his mouth and the way his eyebrows wrinkled...

And then those noises. Potter must have suppressed them last time, and he hadn't heard them through the door the time before that. But now he was close enough to even smell him – sweat, soap, very warm skin – and he was close enough for the little noises he made, the way that his breathing hitched and clicked in his throat in the rhythm of his hand.

He couldn't help looking at the moving hand as well although he tried not to. Potter used his left. He hadn't taken the time to get himself out all the way, so Scorpius could only see the tip, pink and wet, appearing and disappearing in the hollow of his clenched hand.

The movement became even more frantic very quickly, and then he pumped and bit his lip again to lock in everything that might have wanted to get out and shivered, exhaled, stilled.

The room seemed to go cold and Scorpius shuddered as well in his somewhat sweaty clothes and suddenly he felt like throwing up. The cold reached for his neck and squeezed. He gritted his teeth so they wouldn't chatter. Just like they had chattered that day of his flight, when he had his feet back on the ground and realised two things at the same time: That he had done, and barely survived, something monumentally foolish, and that he would inevitably do it again someday because there was no way _not_ to think about it.

Potter wiped his hand on a tissue he had fumbled out of a pocket, stuffed himself back into his pants, zipped and buttoned up and got up on unsteady feet. Now that the spell had left and the reality of what had just happened was catching up with him, his face was blotchy, a shocked paleness setting in. If Scorpius hadn't known better, he might have thought that he looked like he was about to cry.

Which was fitting since Scorpius almost felt like that, too.

/

Just as Potter was trying to get back to his feet, Scorpius realised that he could see the tips of his own shoes. He fumbled his wand out of his coat pocket with tingling fingers – just where he had put it, right before he- with _that same hand_, he had-

He gritted his teeth, grasped the elmwood firmly, pointed it at the door and whispered "Alohomora". No sooner had the lock stopped clicking than Scorpius was already back in the corridor, slamming the door shut behind him again and running, hurtling down entire flights of stairs and dashing through mercifully empty hallways, visibility quickly spreading up his calves and knees and blooming on his fingertips.

Two corners before the Slytherin common room door, Scorpius stopped, breathless, and sat down with his back against the wall. He hugged his knees and pulled them up to his chest.

He recalled how the broom had quaked under him and how gravity had reached for him relentlessly, how it had clutched his stomach and seemed to pull it downwards into his groin. That moment when he realised that he was helpless against that pull- The feeling he'd had when Potter had moved was so very similar that it was almost the same even though it didn't make a bit of sense at all.

He closed his eyes and saw Potter leaning back like he had. He tried to figure out why his crunched-up face wasn't funny to him. Because it wasn't. The boys in his dorm made fun of O-faces all the time. Matthew Goldstein had been caught wanking in the showers three years ago – jizzed just as he realised that a bunch of other boys were watching him, too – and still suffered the occasional jibe and mime. And it cracked Scorpius up whenever anyone mentioned it.

But not with Potter.

_Why?_

He heard noises like those in the night once or twice every week – he was sharing a dorm with five other boys of sixteen after all – and they never caused him to do anything but roll his eyes and stick his head under his pillow.

When Potter made them, it wasn't like that.

_Why?_

Before he got anywhere with this thought, voices and steps came closer and he shot to his feet, patted down his trousers and jacket, tried to wipe the sweat from his face and straightened his shoulders.

He put his right hand into his coat pocket, out of sight.

/

Two hours later, Potter was on the broom before him. Within reach. That was enough of a reason to make a grab for the Firebolt's tail bristles and fly skywards so Potter might slide off the nose end.

Scorpius would later say that he had seen him get ready for a devastating – and perfectly fair – bludger shot against a completely unguarded and vulnerable Tiffany who had spotted her snitch just that second while her Gryffindor counterpart Albus Potter was on the other side of the field. He could say that she had been flying straight through the elder Potter's hit zone. Christopher, the Slytherin captain, even bought it without any question and promised him a tankard of Hogsmeade butterbeer for his effort and the noble sacrifice.

Nobody except himself and Potter knew that he had smirked at Potter who had managed to stay on his broom one-handedly – the other hand was holding the bat – and freed it from Scorpius' loose grip with an air roll.

Nobody else had heard him mock, "Aw, how rude of me to just grab you like that."

He'd had exactly two heartbeats to appreciate the anger on his face. Naked, raw, adrenaline-fuelled. It was honest and ugly and good, that way.

Then, Potter swung his bat at a bludger that had zoomed in from behind Scorpius' back – missing the back of his head by mere centimetres – and hit him right in the face with it.

Theoretically, he knew that bludgers were made of leather and not of stainless steel.

The next thing he remembered was ice cold water in his stinging face that felt about twice as big as it should be – his nose seemed to be installed at an entirely unlikely angle – and the feeling of something alive crawling up his oesophagus. He rolled to the side and heaved, which shot a spear of pain right into the bridge of his nose and, disconcertingly, into his upper front teeth. A collective groan went through the audience, loud enough to be heard over the pounding in his head.

Through the haze of tears he saw Hollinda Hughes in her beige mediwitch apprentice gown running towards him, wand already pointing at him – hence the ice cold water, he presumed – and a first aid kit at her side. He laid back and followed her loud, firm instructions as his eyes started swelling shut and his body went into nervous shaking.

Apparently one of the teachers had stopped his fall by turning the patch of lawn he landed on into jello which was the only reason why his bones were still intact – with the exception of his nose, cheekbones and upper jaw which Potter's bludger had dented quite badly. By the time Hughes was finished filling in the knock-out- induced gaps in his memory however, the bones were mended, his nose pointed the right way again and the swelling was already going down, the dull pain receding rapidly. "Much bedda," he confirmed. Sometime during the landing, he had bit his tongue, hard. Everything smelled and tasted coppery.

"Malfoy, can you play?" Christopher hadn't even bothered to dismount, he hovered nearby.

Scorpius answered "Yes" just as his mediwitch insisted "No", but both their responses were drowned in a sudden surge of booing and whistling from the audience.

Scorpius turned his head just as James Potter, under the watchful, disapproving glare of Madam Hooch, stripped his captain's armband and handed it over to Andrea Finch-Fletchley, one of the Gryffindor chasers. She put it on grimly.

When the exchange was done, he shouldered his broom and his bat, threw Scorpius a last dark look and a slightly less dark glance upwards at his team that had gathered in mid-air, and started toward the dressing rooms. The audience boiled, three quarters outraged, one quarter gleeful.

With only one beater left, the captain of the team gone and an additional penalty of twenty five points for unsporting conduct and unnecessary roughness, Gryffindor lost the match thirty five to three hundred and seventy.

Despite the fact that Scorpius eventually got to rejoin the match with nothing worse than a serious buzzing in his head and managed to score a total of ninety points, he still felt like there was something he needed to pay Potter back for. Or maybe thank him, he couldn't really say, even after mulling it over during the victory celebrations in the common room.

Potter bothered him. He bothered him so much and he could feel it getting worse.

/**TBC**

_Told ya ^^;  
_


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_And here, we have *more* Lembas bre... I mean, more kinky smut. Me≠good person. So sorry, James...  
_

_Enjoy!  
_

/

**Chapter 10**

/

Three days later, he slipped a note into Potter's bag when classes changed in the Transfiguration room without being noticed.

He had been carrying that slip of paper with him for two days. He had written it one morning when he woke up with a boner and, tiredly, with his self-control still asleep, ended up imagining James Potter's hands around James Potter's prick while he stroked himself. He had climaxed with the imaginary James Potter cursing and milking his weeping cock furiously before his mind's eye.

He didn't want to think through it, he didn't want to deal with any of it, he wasn't interested in the implications. All he cared about was that it was another step in reversing Potter's apotheosis, that Potter could impossibly be perfect and godlike when it was possible to make him look _like that. _All he cared about was seeing him angry – and _like that_ – once more.

_again_, the note only said.

He had deleted the _I want to see you_ that had stood before it.

Then deleted the _I want to see it _he had put before it next.

Now, it was simply _again_. He hoped Potter would find the paper, and that he would understand. At the same time he almost wished he wouldn't.

Six o'clock on Wednesday evening found Scorpius in the trophy room. He waited for a full hour before quitting the wait, going back to the common room, wary of watchful eyes all the way down to the dungeons. He found it difficult to fall asleep that night. He pummelled his pillow until Shrew woke up from it and groused a "knock it off" at him.

Thursday was torture. Sleep-deprived as he was, Potions dragged even worse than it normally did.

During the course, the classroom door suddenly opened and James Potter entered. Professor Smith lifted his head from his own paperwork, said "Ah, Potter, right", then became aware of his pupils watching them and harrumphed. "Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen. Eyes on the cauldrons, if you would!"

Most everyone followed the order, but Scorpius kept glancing up.

Potter and the Professor exchanged muted words, then scrolls, and Smith gave him a book that was bound in bright green. Potter nodded, then cleared his throat and visibly started a new topic.

Scorpius felt something cold coil in his stomach when Potter proceeded to pull a familiar, small scrap of parchment from his pocket and showed it to the Potions Master.

"Malfoy!" Someone hissed at him and slapped his arm. Constance Bagman looked at him from the other side of the desk like she was just about to call him names. "Either use that damn knife to chop the damn root or you give it to me. You're ruining the damn project and my damn grade."

He grumbled something vaguely apologetic and chopped the redroot into artless, irregular bits with the knife he had forgotten he had been holding, then let Bagman gather the bits up with two hands and dump them into the cauldron. The kettle coughed out a cloud of white smoke and the liquid inside turned clear – well, at least something akin to clear. Dishwater-clear.

In the meantime, much to Scorpius' silent chagrin, the exchange between the Professor and his guest had ended. He caught the door closing, and Smith adding the scroll Potter had given him to a small collection on his desk.

While Scorpius scrubbed the cutting board for the next step of the brewing, he made several mental notes. One: Do some research on conditional or delayed-action parchment self-destruction charms soon. Two: Hang around at the end of the lesson and use an Accio to maybe retrieve his note, just in case Potter had actually handed it over. And three: Never write innocuous notes again. From now on, Potter would get nothing but explicit erotica for invitations – erotica that ideally self-immolated and crumbled to dust after reading, no less – and Scorpius would make damn sure that he showed up when summoned. No more repetitions of Wednesday, with Scorpius set up and ready for war and James ignoring him again. No more.

Bagman wrinkled her face in disgust and mumbled, "Lay off the poor board, Malfoy. It hasn't done anything to you."

Scorpius set his jaw and kept scrubbing.

/

It was just luck that Scorpius had already applied the chameleon charm before taking the stairs up to sixth floor that same evening. Potter was lurking in a corner, the trophy room door and the staircase in sight. His wand was in his hand. He had applied some sort of attention-diverting spell that was intended to make Scorpius' gaze slide off of him, but it didn't work. Scorpius found it easy to spot him and to keep looking at him.

Scorpius pulled back around a corner, put the voice-silencing charm and the footstep-silencer on himself as well and sneaked right past him, heart beating so madly that he wished there were a spell to silence that as well. But Potter remained unaware of his presence.

From twenty feet away, he made the trophy room door open with a spell that slid the bolt aside and a simple pushing charm.

Potter reacted immediately, firing an Expelliarmus into the general direction of the door. The spell hit the wall, ricocheted with a shower of sparks and died mid-air.

Scorpius deliberated for a second – Potter meanwhile retreated from the invisible enemy he had obviously just missed and inched toward the staircase – and came to the conclusion that it would hardly do to just let him leave like that. He reasoned that that wasn't what the voyeurism-obsessed girl Potter assumed he was blackmailed by would do.

It was, coincidentally, also not what he wanted to do.

So he quickly got into position, pointed and said "Expelliarmus" as well.

Potter's wand sailed through the air in a low arc, landed with a click and rolled to his feet with a delicate clattering sound.

James stood frozen on the topmost stair, the hand that had just lost hold of his weapon still outstretched. Scorpius could almost see the swearword that sat in his mouth but wasn't let out.

He made sure that Potter was watching the wand intently, bent down and picked it up – the chameleon spell spread into it fairly quickly.

He turned, went inside the trophy room and left the door open a little for Potter to come after him.

And then he waited.

/

It didn't even take half a minute. Like any proper wizard, Potter was eager to get his wand back, just like Scorpius had been eager to get his note back from Professor Smith.

Potter _had_ handed it over to Smith, probably to have him apply some more advanced tracing potion. Scorpius had accio'ed it out of the professor's robe pocket in yet another instant of lucky fortune, without Smith noticing.

Scorpius couldn't help but feel a certain displeasure at the fact that he had just given the note away like that. Not to mention that he had only taken notice of it after _two_ days.

He had something to pay him back for. There was no doubt about it in his mind that he was justified in doing this.

The wand he had snatched was lain onto the ground, right where light beam that would fall in through the open door would hit it, so James would see it right away. Three steps away from the threshold, so he would have to come in.

And he did. Scorpius wasn't sure what he had expected, whether he just hadn't thought it through, whether he had actually thought he would allow him to re-arm, under the circumstances.

He kicked the wand under one of the shelves again with the tip of his foot just before Potter could grab it. Then he threw a closing charm at the door and made Potter reel backwards against it with another pushing charm, all in one motion.

Then, just because it was already familiar, he used the sticking charm again which glued Potter to the door. Due to the shove he had received, he ended up frozen in a pose that was almost spread-eagled, his arms wide, palms pointing backwards to halt his momentum and cushion the impact.

He didn't listen to Potter's loud protest and groans of pain from being dashed against the door. No more hesitation now. For once, his mind was on one single track.

Scorpius grit his teeth and tightened the grip around his wand. Aimed it at his chest again, the distance between weapon and victim so short that the spell only flared into life for a split-second before sinking in.

Calor Cupiditatis took hold of Potter instantly, as if it had been made for him.

James' eyes rolled backwards in their sockets, then closed. An unsteady moan came out of his mouth which he didn't click shut fast enough. His back arched as far as his clothes allowed.

Scorpius thought he could feel the warmth radiating against his face. He thought he could hear Potter's speeding pulse echoing in his own ribcage. He hurried, hurried before the uncertainty could come back, before rational thoughts could pierce through this dizzying feeling, he reached out and put his hand exactly where the spell had buried itself into his body.

Two young men moaned at the touch although only one could be heard.

Potter's heart drummed against his palm. Even through the layer of clothing, he was warm. Warm and so very alive.

His chest expanded as he drew breath, and then fell as he spoke. Two puffs of air, barely formed into words. "Please. Please."

He didn't think. He didn't pause. He reached out with the other hand as well, undid his belt. He heard him moan, felt him twitch, and drank it all in. Undid his button. Heard him gasp, felt him sob, and wolfed it all down, every movement, every sound, it all fed the flames.

Pulled down the fly.

Closed his eyes, breathed in. Opened them again.

Slid his fingers under the waistband of his pants.

Potter cried out and gave a start so forcefully that some part of his clothing ripped from the glue.

His flesh, it was hot and tender and hard to the touch, all at once. It felt a lot like his own when he-... well. But the angle was different and the size and- and everything.

For one, he had never been this aroused by simply touching himself.

"Oh god. Oh god, please." James drew his attention to his lips, just in time.

A sound, undefined, spilled from his mouth just as liquid heat spilled onto his own flesh, into his pants, against Scorpius' palm, between his fingers. His entire body shook and convulsed.

Seconds passed before Scorpius breathed again. Before he thought of letting him go and pulling his hand away.

His fingers were sticky.

He was out of breath and starting to feel dizzy.

He felt heat inside of him, the same way he would have felt a white-hot ember in his palm. Like never before.

James Potter was trembling like an aspen leaf. He gasped for breath, gulping down two lungs full, before he managed, voice trembling, "Why? This- why?"

Scorpius was glad he couldn't answer. The truthful response was another one of those things that shouldn't be said out loud.

_Because I wanted to._

_Because I liked it._

He felt the slick stickiness between his thumb and the tips of his fingers.

"I am not-" Potter said, then gasped again, and it sounded like a sob that made Scorpius' throat feel strangely tight. "I'm not _like_ this. What- What are you _doing_ to me?"

That was when Scorpius understood just how scared James Sirius Potter really was.

So scared of losing his face in front of the school that he rather walked into this room again and again. But not just that.

He was scared of himself.

It was as if he had entirely wedged off the carnal part of himself, locked it up inside of him somewhere like an ugly robe gets locked up in a trunk. And now that he, Scorpius, had come along and unlocked that trunk and made him whole, he didn't even recognise it as his own, as something that was a part of him.

Instead, he believed that he had been bewitched.

Which he had. But the spell was designed to not feel like cheap bewitchment. Scorpius remembered the words well enough: _Induces natural sexual arousal of body and mind in accordance to the recipient's tendencies and nature. Organic and strong excitement._

Only a person who had made himself a stranger to that side of their life would have been able to tell the difference at all.

A thought crossed Scorpius' mind. _Maybe that's why he broke up with Sarah._

Someone had let all the heat out of the room. The fizzy feeling in his chest was replaced with something dull and heavy.

He reached into his pocket and wiped his fingers on a handkerchief.

The glue that fixed Potter on the door had mostly dissolved, but his cuffs were still stuck, so he couldn't use his hands.

Scorpius, with fingers that trembled a little, zipped him up again, closed the button and fastened his belt just as Potter's left hand got free. Potter swatted at him but missed.

Scorpius took three steps back, then he crouched down, one wary eye on Potter, and fished the wand out from under the shelf with his fingertips. He rolled it toward him, knowing that this was risky, bordering on rude and reckless. For some reason it just felt right to give him back his weapon after seeing him so helpless. Because he probably still felt the wet spots against his skin, and maybe even the ghosts of his fingers.

He briefly wondered if there was a way, any way at all, to make this right.

Potter picked up the wand very deliberately.

"If you-," he started, gulped, always looking around for something to look at but finding nothing and no one, "If you tell anyone about this, I'm going to kill you."

He fled by inching out of the room backwards. Once he was over the threshold, he turned and ran. Scorpius heard his steps hammer down the stairs and out of earshot.

He sat down and took care of his own state. It didn't take him very long, either. He wiped his hand on the same handkerchief.

Afterwards, he went to the library and wrote a message on a piece of scrap parchment again. Another short trip to the owlery followed.

The owl swooped out of the window, went into a nosedive and spiralled out of sight gracefully, watched by Scorpius who barely took note of the cold air on his face and his hands.

'_Come again same time tomorrow if you don't want to become a murderer, then_' it read in a script that looked almost printed. And on the backside, '_Send the owl back to me with this note or you'll regret it._'

The owl returned ten minutes later. Scorpius freed it of the note, and then burnt the parchment on the window ledge.

The second the grey flocks dispersed in the wind without a trace, the owlery door burst open.

Potter was breathing heavily, his fringe plastered onto his forehead with sweat. Apparently, he had run all the way up the tower.

Funny, Scorpius thought, how even the simple act of breathing heavily wasn't the same. It sounded different now, and it felt different to hear it.

Still good. Tingly.

"You," Potter said. He was staring at him as if he were ready to strike.

Scorpius lifted an eyebrow, forcedly unimpressed by his intensity. "Is there somebody hunting you or something?" He tried to sound as bored as possible while still asking a question.

"Why are you here?" Potter demanded and made a step toward him that felt threatening.

Scorpius made a show of bristling. "This is the _owlery._ Why do _you_ think?"

"You sent the owl," he said, tone sharp and accusing.

"Well, that's what we _do_ in this room," Scorpius responded, rolling his eyes theatrically, then frowned. "Potter, what the hell is going on? Am I on trial yet again for something nebulous, like that time on the Quidditch pitch?"

James just snorted angrily – proper anger, Scorpius noted, and the sweetness of the realisation made him continue, "Has somebody signed you up for Flobberworm Facts? Or have they been writing you smutty love poems-"

"Shut up!" Potter spat, eyes wide. Several owls left the roof beams, hooting in annoyance. "Just shut up!" The outburst was fiercely reined in. "I know you're doing this," he said, voice quaking and barely under control. "I know you wrote the notes, and I will prove it. And once I do, I'm going to have you expelled, and charged-."

"With?" Scorpius prompted and opened his hands invitingly. "You know, you could at least have the decency to let me know exactly what kind of nefarious act I'm committing against you. 'Cause I don't have a clue."

James knitted his brow and slowly shut his mouth. Scorpius could practically see the wheels turning behind that gleaming forehead and suppressed a satisfied grin. Potter really had nothing. Just suspicions.

Scorpius found himself enjoying the glower. It was very much possible that, in six years of going to school together, five years of that also regularly playing Quidditch against each other, James Sirius Potter hadn't ever continuously looked at him for as long as he was right now. It almost made up for being looked past in the trophy room.

"So," Scorpius said after long moments of tense silence and clapped his hands together, which made another bunch of startled owls take flight, "it seems you don't want to tell me yet. I'll let myself be surprised, then, when I see you in court or whatever. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He slithered past him, intensely aware of his eyes on him, and of his smell, even though he knew that he was probably just imagining it, and of his body and the tension in it.

He yanked the heavy door open by its cast iron handle. The draft felt like a cold breath down his neck, reminding him that it was still a little moist with sweat.

Before he could help himself, "I guess we'll be in touch" slipped out of his mouth as he slipped out of the owlery and into the stairwell.

The door slammed shut behind him with a thundering sound, pushed and pulled by the wind.

Scorpius hurried down the stairs, taking two at once. Some Hufflepuff going up to the owlery jumped out of his way with a squeak, averting the collision by split-seconds.

Sitting in the chair by the fire some fifteen minutes later, Scorpius became lost in thoughts. He could still feel his heart thumping, and it wasn't because of the physical exertion of rushing down to the dungeons from the owlery in record time.

Being _looked at_ by him. Proximity to him, no matter which way. It frightened him, and irritated him, and relieved his mind, and made him want to tear something apart with his hands. It made his blood race.

/**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash in one big non-consensual situation setting.

_It's only getting freakier. Please don't tell my parents I wrote this.  
_

/

**Chapter 11**

/

The whole day consisted of waiting for six o'clock. It started at breakfast when Scorpius got cramped shoulders from fighting the urge to turn around and look over to the Gryffindor table. It got worse when he had Albus Severus Potter sitting practically in front of him in Charms, a constant reminder.

The only relief Scorpius had was Quidditch practice. Especially the end of training unit, when the Gryffindors came to take over the rain-muddy field, distracted him a lot.

James Potter was in a foul mood, in tune with the weather. Scorpius could hear it in the clipped tone of his voice when he commanded his team around, and he imagined he could also see it in the set of his shoulders and the way he threw checking glances at his wristwatch. As if to check how much time he had until six, and to figure out how to get from the pitch to the trophy room in 15 minutes.

And in the way he pointedly didn't look anywhere in his direction.

Scorpius took a shower in the locker rooms because a collision with Thomas had unseated him during practice and he had fallen into the second-biggest puddle on the field, thereby soaking his clothes and hair and pores with mud. When he wasn't training any more and his body heat went down, the wetness made the wind and cold cut all the way to the bone, hence he had opted for a changing room shower. It smelled funky as always, but it was better than catching a nasty cold.

Warm and clean again, and changed into his regular robes, he stepped out of the locker rooms, his broom and a bag of dirty sportswear hanging from his shoulder.

The broom almost slid out of his fingers when he looked ahead and saw James standing at the foot of the Ravenclaw stand.

With Sarah. They were standing very close.

He turned away quickly and walked up the pathway to the castle at a pace. He didn't turn around or look back. The dull feeling in his stomach. Just like yesterday when he thought of her. It was worse this time.

It didn't seem fair. _Why_ would she still be interested in him?

He flung the bag and the broom onto the floor in front of his bed, so hard that Shrew looked up from the letter he was writing and muttered something that sounded like "knickers in a twist".

After all that had happened. After all those dirty secrets he had dragged to the light, she still- he still-

He ripped open the bag and strewed all his muddy clothes over the floor so the house-elves would come and take them away for cleaning. He dashed his shirt to the flooring, relishing the slapping sound the heavy, wet garment made.

And he would drag even more of them out. He made James Potter curse and moan already, so he would make James Potter scream and writhe and- and beg-

He would _ruin_ James until she would come back to him. Yes, that was it.

And he would start today.

/

James was still in his training outfit, only his gloves and leather head guard had come off. He obviously had also been knocked off his broom at some point during the session. His right leg was soaked in brown muck that had already dried a little. The fabric clung tightly to his limb. Even his face was sweaty and sprinkled with dirt. His smell seemed to fill the whole room even before the door had closed.

Scorpius clenched his fist. How could it be that, just by coming into the room, he made him feel more invisible than he was? Insubstantial?

"Look. Wait, please, hear me out. Okay?" James looked around, his eyes skimmed Scorpius twice. "What you are- What you are doing to me," he started, licked his lips as if uncertain, and then put away the wand he had been holding. He laid it onto a shelf to his right and lifted his hands in a soothing gesture.

"You have to know that- I don't... This is not right. I'm not sure whether you are aware-"

Scorpius was very aware. He was so aware that it ached.

He used a spell he had found while preparing for a meeting all those days ago. It was intended for securing cargo and sails on ships, but ropes tied to knots could also very well be used to tie a seventh year students' wrists to bookshelves. He said the spell again, also tying his ankles. Wouldn't want any knee-jerk reactions for what he meant to do.

James gasped – perhaps with surprise, perhaps from pain, Scorpius decided he didn't care. Before he could recover and start talking again, Scorpius took the wand he had deposited on one of the shelves and forced it against James' mouth like a bit on a horse's harness.

As Scorpius had expected he would, once he noticed the precious object between his teeth, James stilled considerably. He also didn't spit it out, he held on to it delicately and glared at the thin air with wide eyes while exhaling through his nose, his breath trembling with effort and anger.

Scorpius knew that the knots would hold three minutes maximum. There was no time to lose. He reached out and opened the belt, button and fly and peeled the half-wet, half-stiff garment down, far enough for access. He couldn't do anything to stop the shuddering of his hands.

James groaned and mumbled something that might have been "don't".

Scorpius hit him with the spell and it felt a little as if he had been hit with it, too. His skin prickled when James' eyes rolled back and his neck stretched and his Adam's apple jumped-

He could see his erection straining against his underpants. He could see it getting bigger even though James twisted and angled his hip in the vain attempt to hide it.

He could see Sarah leaning in to him, touching his elbow.

He pulled the elastic band of his pants with just his index finger.

James hissed through his teeth when his stiff member was exposed to the air and threw his head from side to side. The ropes creaked but held on to him.

Scorpius touched him tenderly, with the tips of his fingers. It was very warm and smooth.

James mewled and moved as if to get away from the contact but failed.

He hadn't ever recoiled from her, though.

_Ruin_ him.

He didn't think, he couldn't. He went down on his knees, pushed against his hips hard to hold them still. Closed his eyes. Licked his lips. Opened his mouth.

James gasped in realisation, then cried out. He didn't cry any words, just sounds that reminded Scorpius of the feeling he'd had when Sarah had done to him exactly what he was doing to James right now. Sounds that went into his abdomen and seemed to expand there. They pushed upwards against his diaphragm and drove the air out of his lungs. He sucked it back in through his nose and became aware of a thick, sharp odour, human, sweaty but not exactly unpleasant.

His tongue traced the tip and the little ridge between the tip and the shaft almost without him meaning to, intuitively. It was oddly like the first lick of a lollipop, smooth and slick against the inside of his lips and the topside of the tip of his tongue. It tasted bitter and sweet at the same time, and unlike anything else. He closed his lips around it, careful not to graze him with his teeth, and moved his head backwards and sucked. Forwards again, a little further toward the base, taking a little more in until his mouth felt almost full, repeating the motions.

He looked up, uncertain. James almost met his gaze for a split second, then screwed his eyes shut and moaned like he never had before, a high-pitched moan that dissolved into words, which then dissolved into the moan again.

Scorpius heard him say "oh god" and "don't stop", and saw a thin drop of saliva spill over his lips and dribble down his chin and knew that he had won.

He let go of Potter's hips, grabbed the base of his cock with one hand and steadied himself on the floor with the other.

James exhaled a sigh and used the freedom of movement to cant his hip and thrust his pelvis forward. Just once, with a frantic motion, pushing it deeper than it had been before so its tip hit the soft part of his palate.

This time, Scorpius fought down the fear that had overcome him last time James had moved toward him. This time, he was prepared. Behind the fear, there was a thrill, deep and vast that had set his entire body alight from within. He looked up at his contorted face, a red, helpless, shameless grimace of lust and agony, and the feeling got stronger yet.

When James came, most of of his semen spattered onto the front of Scorpius' robes. James' thighs shuddered, the tremor ran up and down his entire body. He tried but couldn't hold the wand between his teeth any longer, and his valuable weapon fell to the floor. As if a dam had broken, a groan spilled out of him until he was out of breath.

Scorpius got to his feet. He drank in the sight of James Potter hanging limply in his ropes, trembling, gasping for air, his pants undone, his still-hard, moist prick dribbling white. He smelled the sex, tasted him in his mouth, and felt intensely how wrong and forbidden all his sensations were, how hotly they pulsed in his chest, and in his belly, and between his legs.

For a split second, he wanted nothing more than to kiss that mouth and transfer the tangy taste from his own tongue onto the other's, and that vast, hot feeling along with it that was rolling like thunder in his stomach.

The knots became undone and the ropes dissolved almost at the same moment and without so much as a warning. James' legs couldn't hold him and he crumbled, so Scorpius reached out to catch him out of reflex, grasped his upper arms and tried – but failed – to lower him a little more gently to the ground than gravity by itself did. But he was heavy and he twisted away from him again, also out of reflex. At least he didn't fall forward and on his face.

Scorpius took a step back, then another, feeling the distance intensely as if he were stepping back from a warm fire on a cold day. James had already begun to sort out his state of partial undress and indignity with erratic, agitated movements.

From the look on his flushed face when he wiped the spit from his chin with the back of his hand, it was obvious that he remembered very well how he had just given in, how he had entreated the invisible person not to stop doing what they were doing, and how he had shoved his erection into an unseen mouth.

Scorpius left him sitting there. He slipped out of the room, walked into any direction, found himself an abandoned classroom, spelled the door locked, wiped James Potter's cum from his lapel, sank against the wall and opened his own trousers. By the time he was done, he was shaking and there was a lump in his throat and a shiver in his chest although he didn't know why.

In that ludicrous moment of clarity that sometimes happened right after climax, he felt certain that _he_ was the one who had truly been ruined this evening. The moment was gone quickly, but Scorpius remembered it faintly when he lay awake that night, unable to sleep because the shiver was still there.

He was looking forward to tomorrow's six o'clock. He was also dreading it, for no reason he could name.

/**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_In which Scorpius plays with fire and gets his fingers singed... Thanks to NeverthelessTwin for delightful reviews :)_

/

**Chapter 12**

/

Sitting in the hospital wing with a tampon up his left nostril, he figured that he was starting to push his luck now and that he should seriously consider stopping before he overdid it.

Unfortunately, _pushing it_ was a rush. The clothed version of luring Potter into the trophy room and making him drool, and moan, and come, making him forget all about his fake goddamn countenance and devolve from perfect poster boy to an animal in heat.

The day had started soberly enough. Sixth years had been up for later classes this Saturday, and Professor Finnigan had used the old you-are-all-well-rested-so-let's-have-a-pop-quiz- shtick that had exposed gaping holes in most everyone's knowledge which needed urgent mending until next week's first-of-three pre-final exams. The double Charms class after that wasn't much better, and by the end of the last lesson – a particularly nasty single course of Potions – Scorpius felt ready to just crawl back into bed until he was of age and could legally leave school forever.

Mariella was having none of it, however, and dragged him, Shrew, Prince and Bagman from lunch straight to the library to solider through essays and assignments they had. All of them.

"You all know that tomorrow is my birthday, and I want y'all to be absolutely focussed on getting as drunk as physically possible at the Broomsticks. There'll be no whining about open assignments on my birthday, no 'But Ella, I really need to study and do stuff for Monday' and leaving at half past seven, is that crystal clear?" She had given them a threatening finger and then allotted to each person an assignment to cover – everyone got their favourite subject, or the subject they were best in. The plan was for each of them to pass the finished product to the other four classmates who could then copy it; the most efficient way of doing homework. Nobody dared to complain or disagree, so they swarmed out in the library and fetched the books they would need to finish their respective work.

Scorpius slammed three large books on the table and slumped down heavily in the chair across from Constance Bagman. He figured it was logical to sit with her, given that she was his partner in Potions, and usually the one to note things down while he was doing the actual brewing. Bagman looked up from her own assignment – Herbology – when the books hit the tabletop with a resounding smack, lifted an eyebrow in annoyance, sighed, slid her Potions notes over to him and went back to her own reading. Scorpius was glad that she wasn't in the mood for talking.

Reading nearly bored him out of his mind and he looked around the library. It was more populated than usual, many student groups of three or four were milling about, talking and working, exploiting the three hours in which the No Talking ban was lifted for group projects. He recognised many faces. Tiffany Collins, the Slytherin keeper, gave a little wave as she passed through the aisles, obviously searching for something.

He flinched when he caught a glimpse of James Potter sitting at the very table he had been at that day when he had listened in to the conversation between him and his sister – the day when he had followed him the first time and heard- He shook the memory out of his head and tried to focus on his task.

Professor Smith had been in a foul mood today and the assignment reflected this. At least that's what Scorpius told Bagman when she asked why he wasn't making any good progress with the potions homework.

Another factor might have been that he could see James' dark hair through the gaps in the rows of books, and that his eyes kept wandering upward from his parchment again and again as if Potter were a magnet and his sight made of iron. Every time he looked up, he was ridiculously anxious, and then ridiculously relieved when he saw him still sitting there.

One time he was suddenly gone and Scorpius had to force himself to stay seated instead of packing his things and- running to search for him, he supposed.

Ten minutes later, he looked up again – and there he was again, sitting there as if nothing had happened.

It was irritating, but also the opposite of irritating at the same time.

After an hour or so, everyone had finished their stuff and they pooled their resources. Copying took another twenty minutes – copying from Prince was especially hard because the required essay he had written about kelpie preservation since 1612 still had to be modified, and because his letters looked a lot like he had written them while tumbling down a spiral staircase. Scorpius was the last one to share Potion homework with everyone, and as he had expected, everybody needed several clarifying explanations to halfway get it. For once, it irked Scorpius so badly that he got annoyed, raised his voice unconsciously and got shushed by the librarian despite the ban lift.

They all heaved a collective sigh, both relieved and fed up to the back teeth, when they were finally finished. The clock above Madam Pince's desk showed quarter to three already.

"Okay, good job everyone. We're all set up for next week, homework-wise at least," Mariella commended them drily while Prince, Shrew and Bagman, all of them looking pissed off and not exchanging so much as a word, were packing their bags already. "No excuses tomorrow," she reminded them, and they mumbled something non-committal back at her before shuffling off.

Scorpius didn't want to leave yet. James' presence had reminded him that he still had action-delayed incendiary spells to research.

And also, James was still sitting there. It seemed like a reason to stay.

When Mariella asked him, he told her that he had Runes homework to do. She shook her head and grumbled something about how useless a subject it was, that he was wasting his time and that he should have been smart, followed her lead and dropped it long ago. As she slipped her Potions book into her bag, she lifted her eyebrows and went, "Please tell me you're not doing this to impress some chick, though?"

Scorpius frowned at her, silent for a long moment. Then he offered the only response he had. "Huh?"

"Seriously, Coco. The studying, the sneaking away in the evenings, the obsessive showering thing the guys are havering about... and now this?" She gave him a patronizing scowl.

"'This'? What, '_this_'?" he said, blinking in honest confusion. "And what's the problem with studying and some personal hygiene-?"

"This, _this_, Malfoy," she answered his first question and gestured at the chaos of papers, parchments, quills, pens, books and work sheets in front of him. Particularly at the Potions homework he had shared with them, barely half a page long, written in chicken scratch that was almost as bad as Prince's, riddled with crossed-out lines and formulas, blotted with ink and creased on all four corners.

Scorpius snapped his mouth shut. It really _was_ substandard work, for a Malfoy.

Whose fault was that?

He certainly had a suspect.

"You've been pretty much out of it for more than a week now, and more than ever today," Mariella started preaching. "All the sighing and spacing out and the subpar performance for Potions – I mean, even Bagman noticed and she normally wouldn't notice things if they crept into her bra and made a permanent home there."

He had a déjà-vu. Last time this happened, he had tried to fit a quaffle in a bludger hole, and then he had gone and asked _her_ for advice.

He was just about to tell her, make a caustic comment about how he would go find someone to talk to about all the problems on his mind, and how he would try his hardest to accommodate her ambitions this year.

But then she looked at him with one cocked eyebrow that was supposed to curb some of the serious concern she communicated through her piercing look and asked, "You're not in love again or something, are you?"

_Or something._

"Wh-what?" was all he got out before she already continued, irritated.

"Or _still_ in love with a certain school slapper?"

"Wha- No!" he hissed, seriously getting a little angry at her for this very public interrogation. He could feel Madam Pince's piercing look on him already. She was doubtlessly getting ready to shush him again, or maybe even throw him out.

Or maybe it was just the mention of Sarah that rubbed him the wrong way.

"Good. Because the last thing we need is for you to go Hufflepuff on us like Parkinson did last year. Get your act together, Malfoy," she said unsmilingly and got up. "And don't you dare drag my party down tomorrow." With that and without so much as a good-bye, she flung the strap of her bag over her head and left.

He looked after her for a long time.

_Sighing and spacing out?_ He rubbed his eyes until his vision was full of yellow-brown flashing diamond shapes. _Was it that obvious?_

But what exactly was _it_ anyway? There was _nothing_ there, not like there had been something when Sarah-

Potter coughed and moved his head. The movement caught his eye right away.

He decided to shelve Mariella's speech for now. She had no idea what she was talking about anyway.

"Incendiary curses," he muttered to himself, quickly collected all the material strewn across the table in front of him, stuffed it into his bag and went hunting for a book that might help him with his undertaking.

With the reason for the entire thing sitting right there, motivation was high and the job was done quickly. He found three spells at once that seemed both feasible and effective. He jotted them down, along with the advice from the books he had found them in.

When he put the last book back where he had taken it from, his eyes fell upon the bright yellow spine in the shelf right above. It read "The Wizarding Sleuth". The 'g' in 'Wizarding' was formed by an old-fashioned, thick-rimmed magnifying glass.

He pulled it out on an impulse which made dust rain down on him. The book was virtually unread since the 1950s when it had been written and then deposited in that very shelf. A quick skim revealed that it was exactly what the title said: An introductory guide to quasi-detective work supported by magic. Finding bloodstains, fingerprints, comparing typewriter characters, finding the person whose hair was conveniently stuck to the murder weapon. All in all, it sounded dreadfully Muggle-y.

One chapter was titled 'Ransom Notes & Suicide Letters: Five Easy Steps to Ascertain Authorship'.

Before he had finished the thought, his feet had already carried him to the table in the aisle between the Dark Arts and the basic Herbology shelves. Specifically, to the one that had James Potter sitting on it, all by himself, a stack of books before him, one book in his lap, a long scroll of parchment under his quill, a pair of bright blue earplugs in his ears, deeply immersed in his work and completely unaware of the fact that he had – figuratively – been standing – well, sitting - in Scorpius Malfoy's way for three solid hours.

Scorpius made sure he noticed his presence despite the self-imposed deafness and concentration. He made a show of removing Potter's bag from the other chair – Potter had probably put the bag there for the sole purpose of keeping people from sitting down on it. Seventh year students just got away with this kind of behaviour – and sat down across from him, then heaved 'The Wizarding Sleuth' onto the table with a great _bang!_ and flipped it open with a gesture that was almost theatrical.

He pretended to read it for a full minute, ignoring the dark look Potter was giving him. Then he looked up, met his glare and exaggeratedly mouthed "You should totally read this" at him while pointing and gesturing mightily at the volume in front of him.

Potter chewed the inside of his cheek for a second, then pulled one earplug out. "What?" he asked, with a gravelly tone and a downward inflection that made it sound like the 'Fuck off' it really was. Scorpius decided that, for someone capable of swearing like a trooper and quasi-consenting to bondage and oral sex, he was way too polite and well-mannered. Too reserved. He supposed that it had to be really exhausting, to play-act all the time.

"I said, you should totally read this," he repeated, then lifted the cover up from the table so James could catch the title. "I gathered that you have some sort of an anonymous letter problem. This wonderful book might help solve it." He smiled. Of course it wouldn't. "It even got a chapter called 'Ransom Notes-'"

"Please, go away," Potter said and started to put the plug back into his ear.

"You know, my aunt Daphne had this problem some years ago," his mouth started talking, quickly, before the plug was in. "She got pleas for help from some Nigerian prince every other day. There's just nothing you can really do about it - I can only imagine how much it must _suck_."

Potter clenched his teeth hard at the last word. Scorpius felt a bubble of insane laughter in his belly. Things were getting a little dangerous.

"So anyway, how many of these anonymous letters have I written to you by now?" he asked challengingly, then prompted, "Five? Ten? Twenty?"

"Malfoy, _leave_." It even sounded somewhat menacing. If Scorpius hadn't previously seen him rage and spit one second and then blush and moan the next, he might have been intimidated. As it was, it merely egged him on.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "My lawyers have advised me to find out the exact extent of the allegations. Wouldn't want to bite off more than I can chew."

James shut the book on his lap and wiped the tip of the quill on the cloth next to the inkwell with rapid movements. Scorpius noticed that his ears – one of them still armed with an earplug – were quickly turning red.

"Can I interpret this escape as a sign that your accusations at the owlery were spoken in haste?" Scorpius asked and crossed his arms in front of his chest as he watched James pack up rapidly.

"I'm here to study," James forced out between his teeth. He picked the leftover plug out and threw it recklessly into his bag, then stuffed his papers in as well without much concern for dog-ears. "Not to listen to you."

"What a shame. I feel I have so much to tell you." He mimicked a sad smile. "You're always so tied up in your work." It took some serious effort not to giggle. So many ambiguities to choose from!

He could see James Potter getting seriously angry underneath that façade he had learned to perforate these past weeks. He could see him feverishly trying to figure out if he was just paranoid or if he was actually hinting at something.

Or he was figuring that the girl he believed was blackmailing him had leaked information about what had happened yesterday evening.

This last thought actually put a damper on the glee. If James started believing that Miss X had spread the word around, it might scare him into confiding in McGonagall.

"Look, I'm sorry," he back paddled. "I didn't mean to chase you away from your spot here. Just – put yourself in my shoes. You've been coming on to me- uhm," he stumbled over that unintended double entendre, "pretty hostilely lately and I really have no idea why. But it sounds like you pretty much want to ruin-" He had to clear his throat. "Ruin my life," he finished weakly.

Potter muttered something under his breath that sounded like "mutual". He scribbled a note saying 'Please don't clear away, J.S. Potter' and placed it on the top of the book pile.

Scorpius cleared his throat again. "So, uh, that's quite a large pile there," he said and had no idea why. "Must be a lot to study. The N.E.W.T.s are really stressful, eh?"

"Yes, it is," Potter grumbled back while he snapped his bag shut. "And yes, it is. And they are." He also looked like he didn't have a clue why he had said it.

Looking back at that moment, Scorpius distinctly remembered his brain whispering 'Don't' at him. Well, not whispering. It was more of a shout, just... from a distance.

But then that sniggering insanity took over and he looked Potter dead in the eye and said, "Having to study that much just _blows_."

He figured it was probably the stress he had put on the last word, combined with the shit-eating grin he couldn't help, the overt eye contact, and finally the fact that he was sitting well within one vexed James Potter's reach. Means, motive, opportunity.

Potter's fist wasn't as forceful as the bludger with which he had knocked him out cold at the game. Which was why it hurt considerably more.

He was knocked over backwards, chair and all. The floor came up with lightning speed and smacked him in the back of the head, hard. Entire galaxies imploded in his vision and zipped around in his skull like a pinball in a pinball machine. His teeth rattled in his mouth.

The next few minutes were a blur of people, shouting voices and someone putting the world back into its default position. Scorpius shook his head and couldn't help but giggle even though a warm wetness was spilling out of his nose, over his lips and down his chin at an alarming speed.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy! This is not a laughing matter!" the shrill soprano of Madam Pince drilled through the haze from above him. "You are bleeding. To the hospital wing, right this instant, before you bleed on my books." She turned away from him. "Mr Potter, you will accompany him. I will inform the Headmistress and Professor Finnigan." He assumed that James had made a move to argue, because she added with cutting finality, "No backchat! Out, out! Both of you!"

"Malfoy, can you stand?" someone asked very near him, and he recognised Tiffanys' voice. She pressed something to his face that turned out to be a tissue. "Come on, let's go."

With her assistance, he got out of the chair and to his feet. He staggered out of the library, following the long-legged stride of James Potter and followed, in turn, by several pairs of eyes and some whispering.

The walk to the hospital wing was fortunately quiet. There weren't many people in the corridors, but the two or three that _were_ there looked at him with horror which confirmed his suspicions about the severity of his nosebleed which he couldn't hide behind his hand even though he tried. The tissue was already soppy and thoroughly soaked, blood running down his chin. He hoped he wasn't leaving a trail of blood but didn't dare crane his neck to check. His head was pounding. The rest of him was fine, though, so halfway to the hospital wing, he retracted his arm which Collins had slung over her shoulder for support. She still kept very close to him, walking with their elbows touching, just in case he collapsed, and he was silently thankful.

James had run ahead and turned a corner so he was out of sight. Scorpius almost told Tiffany how regrettable that was, since his legs and all the things attached to it really were quite a joy to behold from behind, just like the Slytherin keeper had observed herself, weeks ago, on the Quidditch pitch, but he said nothing because thinking of the things that happened on Quidditch pitches pissed him off, and anyway, since when did he-? He shook his head again and regretted it instantly. The entire front of his face was awash with an unpleasantly cold, tingling sensation.

Madam Pomfrey told him to sit down on a bed, gave him a big bowl to bleed into, then a cold washrag for his neck, a quick cleaning charm for his face and finally a tampon for the nostril his blood was gushing from after making sure that his nose wasn't broken. Lastly she shone a light from the tip of her wand in his eyes and mhh'ed. "Stay put." Then she disappeared into her little back room from which an acidic smell wafted through the entire wing.

Seeing that there was nothing left for her to do and that Scorpius would manage without her, Tiffany said her goodbyes and left him sitting there.

James Potter was hovering in the corner of his eye, waiting for McGonagall and Finnigan and their judgement with defiantly crossed arms.

"So," Scorpius felt compelled to begin when the silence got too uncomfortable. "What the hell is this all about, really?" His voice sounded as if he had a bad cold and vibrated uncomfortably in his nose.

"None of your bloody business," Potter answered, as expected, without turning his head.

"Pun intended, I suppose," Scorpius groused and pulled the soaked tampon from his nose. A wad of coagulated blood followed. It felt like a spongy eel was slithering out of his nostril. He cringed and blindly groped for a new wad when fresh blood started flowing. Pomfrey had laid several out on the night stand and he knocked most of them to the floor until he caught one. _That's why I never made Seeker,_ _Dad_, he thought.

Silence fell. Scorpius glanced over to James while he shoved more cotton up his nose. The way his jaw was set and his arms were crossed made him seem determined, like a man on a mission.

What if-?

He suddenly felt cold enough to shiver.

Perhaps he had gone too far already? What if his words at the library had been the last straw?

What if James felt that his suspicions had been sufficiently borne out?

What if he meant to tell McGonagall about it? Right now?

/**TBC**

_If you happy and you know it, write a review! *clap clap*_


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, non-consensual situations

_Thanks to woelmuis92 for following :)_

_This one's a looong chapter. Like, it's really big, in length, girth and depth... oh, and also, there's sexually suggestive language in it. Yes! Enjoy!_

/

**Chapter 13**

/

He tried to breathe evenly. Panic, rising rapidly in his chest, wouldn't serve him well now. His thoughts raced, but in many directions at once, so all he gathered from them was that he had no other option left but conversation. His mouth had got him into this mess – in more ways than one – and it was the only thing that could get him out again.

He needed to cast doubt upon his suspicions somehow, or at least to take Potter's mind off of things.

His stupid, rattled brain recommended him to start talking about STDs again. He stopped short of groaning at himself and telling his brain "You and I, we need to seriously talk about this fixation on sexually transmitted diseases".

Unfortunately, he had already opened his mouth, and while the STD-thing stayed in his head, the next worse thing slipped out.

"So are you getting back together with Sarah?"

This actually made James look at him. Darkly.

"I'm just asking," he said defensively and shrugged. "Saw her at the training yesterday."

James studied him for a long moment, obviously debating with himself whether he should speak his mind or not. When he finally did, Scorpius almost sighed with relief. "You're sick, Malfoy. Get help. You've got an obsession or something."

_Or something._

"I know," he conceded and nodded. The movement caused blood to slosh around in his nose and seep down the back of his throat and he cringed again at the feeling. "It must look pretty stupid and sick to you." He wanted to add 'I just care about her' but somehow couldn't. Instead he said, "I guess she wasn't good for me."

For some reason, Potter frowned at him at that. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Just that second, Professor Finnigan, Head of Gryffindor House and teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts, arrived at the hospital wing. He looked at Scorpius with his face coated red from nose to chin despite Madam Pomfrey's cleaning charm, and the bowl full of blood and wet bits of cotton in his hands, then at James who had uncrossed his arms by now, and chuckled.

"Like fathers, like sons, eh?" he asked no one in particular and walked up to James, took him by the shoulder and walked to the window with him, doubtlessly trying to find out exactly what had happened.

Scorpius looked up at the ceiling and prayed to whichever deity felt responsible for this kind of situation that the distraction had been successful and that no one would end up expelled today in consequence of assault that had cost somebody his face.

/

_'I love'_

Scorpius scratched out the two words. Scratched his head with the other end of the pen. Tried again.

'_I really like'_

Scratch, scratch. "I'm not in second year any more, dammit."

"What?"

"Nothing, Shrew. Wasn't talking to you."

_'I love your dick.'_

Good grief, it was horrid to read. Sounded weirdly alright in his head but none of that appeal made it to the paper. So he scratched it out.

_'Your penis'_

This word reminded him too much of his parents teaching him about the glumbumbles and the mandrakes.

_'Your cock'_

Well, what about it? Which message involving his cock would make James Potter get all red in the face and angry – and then make him come to the trophy room?

_'Your cock tasted like'_

Well, it tasted like cock, really. There was no equivalent that Scorpius knew of, even though the wealth of his parents had ensured that he was culinarily knowledgeable. So he scratched the 'tasted like' and tried again.

_'Your cock felt'_

He paused and chewed on his tongue. Looked around the room.

Shrew was the only other human there and he was not paying any attention to him. He was sitting on his bed, head propped up against the headboard of his bed, engrossed in a four-page letter from his aunt in New York.

The owl which had brought the letter was sitting on the top ledge of the cupboard on the corner.

It was watching Scorpius quite intently. Maybe a little accusingly.

More than a little, really.

Yes, there was definitely accusation in those round, yellow, unblinking, knowing eyes.

Scorpius hesitated for a second, then glowered at it and focussed on the note again.

_'Your cock felt so good in my mouth.'_

There. That almost made _him_ feel embarrassed. And bothered.

_'I loved it when you shoved it in.'_

Simple. Obscene.

Also, true. Undeniable. He supposed that this was weird. He reread the message and felt his own breath quickening, getting shallow. He drew his knees up a little.

_'You should do it again tomorrow. 3 p.m.'_

Yes.

"Hey Shrew, do you mind of I use your owl?"

Shrew was too distracted to notice that he sounded a little breathless.

"Nope. 's not mine anyway."

"Much obliged."

He coaxed the judgemental animal onto his shoulder with a treat and took it on a walk out of the dormitory and the common room, up to the northern staircase, the place where the dungeons met the aboveground and hence the nearest spot from which an owl could be released, through a crenel just over ground level right in front of a bed of flowers.

Before he handed over the simplistic message, he subjected the paper to the spells he had found at the library this afternoon. "Flamma Morarita," he said, pointing his wand. The spell burst out of its tip, emitting a pungent smell of sulfur. One corner of the paper began to glow a bright orange.

"Take this to James Sirius Potter in Gryffindor tower," he instructed the owl that had since hopped onto the stone ledge that led to freedom. The bird was still looking at him accusingly. Scorpius ignored that look with all his might.

"This paper is going to burn up the next few minutes. Try to not set yourself or the castle on fire, okay?" With that, he let the owl take the note with its beak and hop out onto the grass. From there, it took off and was out of sight immediately.

On second thought, this was more risky than taunting Potter with his ambiguous words. He had only barely slipped out of that noose and he still didn't know exactly how he had managed it.

But the note was gone now. All he could do was pray that the draft or the drizzle wouldn't kill the flame.

He had already made it on a prayer once today. He had prayed that no one would get exposed and expelled, and no one had, miraculously. Unfortunately, he had learned, wishes are granted and miracles happen – at a cost.

McGonagal had entered the scene five minutes after Finnigan, just as Madam Pomfrey had come out of her weird-smelling room to check on Scorpius and his bleeding again.

Finnigan had begun, "Ah, Professor. It seems we have-"

And then Potter had interrupted him, "Headmistress, I need to apologise."

And finally, Scorpius, on a reflex and a gut feeling, more or less shouted, "James, I'm sorry."

Really loudly, if nasally, so everyone turned around to look at him.

Redness crept into his face, but he continued with a steady voice. "It was pretty much my own damn fault. I know you're stressed with the N.E.W.T.s and- and all that. I shouldn't have provoked you. Was a stupid thing to do. Sorry."

While everyone was staring at him wordlessly, he wondered if he had ever said his first name out loud before.

"Be that as it may," the headmistress broke the silence first, "I would still like to be briefed on the details here. Seamus, would you do me the honour?"

Professor Finnigan did while Potter stood there and glowered at the floor as if it had offended him in some way.

"I see," McGonagall finally said with an exasperated sigh. "Well. I suppose that Madam Pince will have you banned from the library for quite some time, Mr Potter. Possibly you as well, Mr Malfoy. I don't see that I should intervene on that ruling."

Scorpius suppressed a sarcastic 'Oh well'. He just remembered why he had never liked Madam Pince and why he preferred his father's library over hers.

James actually looked rather sullen. He probably had a lot to do and the ban came at the worst time conceivable. But he also didn't object.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to inform your father about this incident, Mr Potter. This incident, and possibly the incident during the last Quidditch game as well, seeing that we seem to have a pattern developing here. Also, it will be noted down in your school report." James nodded ruefully when she said, "I don't think I need to elaborate that this will not exactly make a good impression on your résumé."

Scorpius made a mental note to find out exactly what James wanted to do after graduation. Was it possible that he meant to follow in his father's footsteps and become an Auror? He didn't really seem the type.

At least not the guy he was on the surface. The person underneath... that one might be raider material._ Full of fire._

"Given that you apparently think you were to blame in the first place, Mr Malfoy, I don't suppose you feel that this is an insufficient punishment for Mr Potter, do you?" McGonagall looked at him over the rim of her glasses with that piercing stare that made him cower involuntarily. Ever since he had handed in that too short essay on the transfiguration of paper clips into cutlery she had this effect on him.

Unbidden, 'You should send him to do some cleaning in a trophy room. I know one that could need it' sprang to his brain. He pressed his lips together to keep the words in and shook his head, both to negate the question and to shoo the stupidity away.

"Good. Then this should be all. I don't think I have to tell you that this will be the very last time either of you is involved in such an incident, do I?"

This time, James shook his head as well. Scorpius even saw Professor Finnigan shaking his head before catching himself and stopping immediately, as if it had just suddenly dawned on him that he was a grown-up now and that he hadn't done anything wrong anyway. He seemed a little baffled at the realisation.

"Good," the headmistress said again.

Scorpius clenched his fingers around the bowl he was still holding, albeit in his lap instead of right under his nose.

He hoped. Silently he muttered _Don't say it. Please. Don't say it._

She said it anyway. As if she had an eleventh sense.

"Is there anything else either of you would like to bring to my attention?"

Scorpius looked at James.

Then he looked down into the bowl, holding his breath. _What a bloody mess_, he thought.

Some part of him was aware that, should James Potter open his mouth now and accuse him, and should everything come to light, it would be justice. Pure and simple. He had fucked up badly the moment he had pointed his wand at people and said that spell that made them slaves to their lust. He had committed a true crime when he had first reached out and grabbed Potter's crotch, and ever since then, the crime had only festered more and more, getting more shameful every time.

Some part of him even wanted James to tell, if only to bring it all to an end.

Another part was yelling at him for being so careless. Careless, because he had taunted Potter like that, short-sightedly, imprudently. Careless, because he straight-out discounted the possibility of facing any sort of relevant punishment, and because being expelled didn't scare him half as much as it should. Careless, because his face – the metaphorical one, the one his father cared so much about – didn't matter to him at all, really, if he thought about it long enough. Although he knew very well that it should, and that he was only in the position to take it lightly because he had always had plenty of it. His head clamoured and called him a disgrace for the house of Malfoy.

And a tiny part wanted to look at Potter again and push his thoughts at him as if through telepathy. Crude thoughts like _Don't you tell her_ and _I'll ruin you if you tell her_.

Outright disgraceful thoughts. _I know you want it, too._

Moronic thoughts. _Please don't send me away from you._

The shiver was in his chest again. He suddenly understood.

It was obvious, really.

It was obvious that it had come from his heart.

The blood loss might finally have kicked in. His head suddenly swam a little, and so did his vision, and his memory insisted on washing up Mariella's library speech on the shore of his consciousness.

_Are you in love or something?_

No. No, impossible.

Oh Merlin, no.

The breath he had been holding escaped.

He clung to the bowl so fiercely that it was in danger of slipping out of his hands like a bar of soap that is clutched too tightly.

Into the spinning vortex, McGonagall said, "Very well, then."

And then she just left, and so did Finnigan and, after a moment, so did Potter, without another look back at him.

He sat there, holding on to the bowl full of red goo.

/

Madam Pomfrey had given him a potion against the possible headache after making sure once more that he didn't have a concussion. The nosebleed stopped after some time, even though his entire face still felt sore and tender. She also gave him a potion against that, also to prevent bruising. When it seemed fairly certain that it wouldn't start to bleed again, Pomfrey cleaned him up and sent him away with three backup tampons in his pocket, just in case.

He had gone to the Slytherin dorms, put himself on his bed, and written a note which he had then set on fire just before sending it to an unwilling addressee.

He had tried very hard to ignore the epiphany he had had at the infirmary, unsuccessfully. He carried it around with him like his pulse.

Therefore, as he slowly walked back from the crenel through which he had released the owl, he decided to face it head-on. Then and there.

Right away, it was clear as day to him that there must have been some mistake.

It certainly wasn't love, it couldn't be. After all, he didn't even know the guy, really. He had barely talked to him half a dozen times, and every time they had, it had been something of a shouting match, much rather than actual 'talking'.

Hell, he didn't even _like_ him, showman, liar that he was.

Not to mention that he wasn't gay, didn't touch him because he wanted to touch him. He really wanted to touch Sarah. As stupid as it seemed in retrospect, this all had happened because it wasn't possible to do it directly. It had been logical, once. A long time ago, it used to make sense.

He stopped in his tracks. The dungeon corridors were very deserted and very quiet, so the loud noises were only in his head.

He tried to recall the events, tried to find that exact point at which Sarah had left his thoughts, that point at which it had somehow seemed logical and right to give James Potter a blow job. Because he was sure it had started innocently, logical, but somewhere along the way, something had changed. Dramatically, even though he hadn't noticed. And things had spiralled out of control.

Not love. That couldn't be.

Maybe- maybe lust.

Heat. Lust. Passion.

Everything just clicked into place. He hurried to his room. He had two letters to write. He had a mistake to clear up.

/

_'My Dearest Father,'_

Because starting with 'Hey Dad' just wasn't his style. He knew that his dad would appreciate it, too.

_How are things at home? Please give Mother my  
very warmest greetings._

No wonder his classmates all thought he was a snob. Writing in this style and with a handwriting that might have adorned the label of a very expensive bottle of champagne came way too easily.

_'I much regret to inform you that your son and heir  
has been on the receiving end of a one-sided fist fight  
recently.'_

He pondered for a second.

_(Actually, I suppose that "one-sided fight" is an  
oxymoron. It still sounds better than 'I've been  
punched right in the face.' It's humiliating like you  
wouldn't believe. At least it wasn't by a girl.)  
If future Head Auror Potter summons you to his office  
these next few days – that'll be because the guy who  
hit me was his son. Should you go see him at the  
Ministry to have a chat and he insist on grovelling,  
there is no need to tell him that I sort-of deserved it.  
Rest assured that the flow of blood has been  
staunched, things have been talked about sternly,  
punishments have been meted out and I will hence-  
forth do my best to keep my fist fights more low-key  
(not to mention less one-sided, if at all possible).  
(Better not let Mom read the last bit.)_

He re-read the paragraphs, then nodded to himself, inhaled deeply and put the quill on the parchment again.

_Due to the punch and the bleeding happening in  
Madam Pince's precious library, of all places, I have  
been banned from entering her temple forthwith, a ban  
which I suppose will hold another week or so, regard-  
less of pointless pleas and intervention. I am, however,  
lucky to have good friends who will help me bridge this  
week of diminished studying resources._

Incidentally, these good friends also depended on him and his academic achievements for their Potions mark.

_There is nevertheless a favour I would like to ask of  
you, given that end term exams are practically right  
around the corner. If it doesn't inconvenience you,  
please send me the following books from your library;  
I swear upon my honour as a Malfoy and a Slytherin  
that I will return them to your shelves in their very  
best condition._

The list comprised four volumes, more or less random. One of them was titled "Some Magicks and their Usage", written by Andrea Gabriello Santini. He knew its contents were diverse enough to not raise suspicion. Hell, the book might even be actually useful for his charms classes.

He added a lengthy good-bye and his name, re-read the entire thing twice and finally folded it into an envelope which he then sent off to Wiltshire.

Every time he thought about James, his heart leapt. He felt certain that it had to do with the spell he had used so foolishly, without knowing anything about it. Perhaps it partially reflected back to its caster, perhaps it had affected him. He needed to read that text again. The small print he knew just _had_ to be there.

He needed to make sure that this wasn't really happening to him at all, and that it was just a stupid spell that made his skin prickle with anticipation when he thought of tomorrow, 3 p.m.

/

The way that his heart seemed to thrash about in his chest when the door opened and he came in – it almost convinced him that this wasn't merely a side effect of a spell that caused sexual arousal, that it couldn't be. This felt more profound than mere lust.

It wasn't. He knew very well that it wasn't.

But it felt that way.

Because it hurt. _And_ it felt good.

That he was here, and that Scorpius could see him, and touch him while James couldn't see him. That he was here, and that he could touch him _only because_ James couldn't see him – pleasant, exciting, and painful. All wrapped in one big, chaotic bundle, compressed so it would fit between his lungs.

James' voice was low. "You're- uh. You're already here, aren't you?" He stood by the door.

Just when Scorpius thought he was about to run, he shut the door behind himself, very quietly.

Scorpius knocked over a dusty brass fixture in response to his question.

"Will we be doing this until June?"

This reminded him how close the end of the school year really was. The end of Potter's stay at Hogwarts. Final N.E.W.T exams were starting in eight days already. Five days after that, there'd be the big celebratory Hogsmeade pub crawl and the next day, everyone who had passed their finals would be ceremonially dismissed, and then there'd be more partying – the best way to deal with hangovers was to stay drunk or get drunk again, after all.

And the day after, he and his fellow graduates would get on the train, one day earlier than the students from all the other years, and he would never see him again.

Potter put his wand onto the shelf. With a sigh, he said, "Please don't put this in... uhm. In my mouth? It- I cracked it a little. Last time." He cleared his throat, then exhaled and said under his breath, "Let's get this over with."

Scorpius wanted to hit him, then, with his fist in the face. The way he said this, the way he acted like a lamb being lead to the slaughter – he wanted to yell at him 'Then why do you even come here?' even though he knew the answer already. In theory, he knew that he was only here to save his face – but still, he somehow wished that it wasn't... wasn't _all_.

That maybe _getting it over with_ wasn't all.

It still hurt. While it felt good. Merlin, this was excruciatingly confusing.

Several minutes had to have gone by. James stood there, his back to the bookshelf, and looked around him into the thin air, uncertain. "Well?" he asked, nothing more.

That one word, though. It was strange and only added another flavour to the confusion. The way his eyes scanned the room nervously, and the way he sucked in his lower lip and bit on it in anxiety.

Something was odd.

Scorpius threw a jinx. The cords bound him just below the elbows and around the shins. He took it without a sound.

Just because he could, now, he touched his fingertip to his cheek. James jerked his face away from the contact, like Scorpius had known he would.

Still, something was different today. Maybe it was the set of jaw or how his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides. Something was new.

Scorpius laid his hand on his shoulder – James didn't shrug it off – and let it travel south slowly from his collarbone to his belt. Appreciating the way that his chest rose and fell so fast, and the way his whole body resonated palpably with the beat of his heart.

"I think I know who you are," James said. His voice was a little unsteady.

Scorpius slid a fingertip under the seam of his trousers. The skin there was so warm and soft.

"I think-" He inhaled with a hiss. "-think I understand why you're doing this." He squirmed. "Please, you don't have to-"

Scorpius' hand touching the front of his crotch shut him up. He swallowed audibly and made a breathy humming noise that Scorpius found very pleasant.

He also liked what he felt, moving, against his palm.

So much for _Let's get this over with_.

Today, everything was different indeed.

He opened his belt slowly and savoured the tremor that seemed all the more real, those noises that rang true and wished the gaze of his eyes would linger on him a little longer than it did. Instead, it darted through the room, grasping for purchase, finding none, until he finally screwed his eyes shut and threw his head back.

Today, for once, Scorpius had no use for a spell.

/**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Enjoy! And leave a review, please!_

/

**Chapter 14**

/

_'Quickening of the blood flow to the sexual organs, swelling... Sensitivity to touch, temperature... smells, sounds...'_

Scorpius' eyes scanned the lines again and again.

There was nothing between them.

_'Possible heightened emotions, tantrums, crying fits, narcolepsy...'_

No hidden meaning, no references, no allusions.

_'No effect on hormonal balance... sexual appetite... strong excitement...'_

It was all about the person being administered this spell, not about the one who was doing the administering. Scorpius felt his hands getting cold and sweaty.

'_It was devised to treat women with the common symptoms of _hysteria_ and ease _inappetence _and _lethargy_.'_

The rational voice in his head told him that, if someone had indeed created it as a legitimate medicinal help, it would make very little sense for this spell to be so faulty that the healers would be compromised by applying it.

He got up from his bed and walked through the empty dormitory with his hands on his head, trying to breathe.

"I am not. I am not. _Not_. In love or something," he murmured and felt stupid for it. _I am, however, angrily talking to myself, out loud._

Unbidden, memories from barely two hours ago rose. His face all flushed, eyes screwed shut. How he had shaken. Gasped. Merlin, those noises.

The words had been the sweetest. "Yes," he had whispered. "Like that."

He had inhaled unsteady breaths and mouthed, more than said, "Yes. God. Just like that."

"That was all mine," he told the open book, as if it weren't an inanimate object. As if he were talking to the spell itself, as if it were a smug bastard of a person. "I didn't need you."

But then, doubts crept in.

If this spell was truly defective – and it was clear as day that it was, since it _did_ have adverse effects on the caster who was pacing around his room while suffering from palpitations and having one-sided conversations with a _goddamn book_ – then it was possible that not even today had been purely- natural. Maybe it had festered into some sort of curse, keeping James Potter in a constantly aroused state, perhaps.

Everything was possible. Except that he was in love with James Potter, of course.

He wanted to throw the book at the wall, or rip the pages about this cursed incantation out, or both, but his parents had taught him better than that. He flipped the pages back and forth so anatomical pictures of vaginas, penises, and the thick Fraktur text alternated.

No. No, he decided there and then. James hadn't been- that hadn't been the spell. That had been real. James had walked into that trophy room and he had _wanted_ it. He had _liked_ it.

It had felt so different. That had to mean something. He didn't even understand why this was so important and this juncture, but it was. It simply was.

His eyes fell on the last line of the text.

"_Daily treatment longer than 14 consecutive days is not recommended."_

It was almost funny how this ominous line had struck him twice in the past, and how he had forgotten all about it again right afterwards, he thought. He now remembered how he had wondered about it when he was eleven, and then again just two months or so ago-

"Oh," slipped out of his mouth, and then again, louder this time, "Oh! Bloody! F-!"

He had searched between the lines like an idiot and missed the obvious.

It hadn't been continuous, but it had certainly been longer than 14 days.

Hastily enough to stumble over his own feet, he grabbed feather, ink and parchment and commenced a letter to the author. In it, he elaborated how he had come across this spell during a school assignment – which was the truth – and, out of scientific curiosity and in a purely professional way, wondered _what exactly_ the vague recommendation mentioned at the bottom might be referring to.

To make things easier for Mr Santini, he already hinted at the obvious answer: That after two weeks of usage, this spell rebounded, that it affected the caster, that it made him _feel-_

_Something_.

Or _some things_. Attraction. Shivers.

Signore Santini's address was given on the first page of the book, right underneath the acknowledgements. Scorpius jotted it down on an envelope, shoved the letter into it after rereading it twice more and rushed up to the owlery to send one of the bigger owls away with it.

/

Mariella looked around the table somewhat smugly as she returned with a tankard made of tin. The birthday guests oooh'ed appropriately and started chanting 'Down the hatch, down the hatch!'

"Guys and gal," she interrupted the chant with a raised hand. "Good news. This wonderful receptacle holding a 1967 Blishen Firewhiskey was on the house, as a birthday gift."

The small crowd cheered and knocked on wood in applause for the barkeep.

"Given that this means a considerable saving to knutless old me, I could be inclined to spend my previously saved money – and your generous offerings – on a nice, big keg of proper whiskey on my way out."

Everyone cheered and lifted their butterbeer. Anthony Prince actually got up from his chair and tried to catch Mariella's hand – possibly to kiss it or something – but she swatted him away like a fly, laughing. Into the general merriment, Mariella continued, "None of you woefully underage children is allowed to drink proper stuff within this fine establishment, but who knows what happens outside, eh?"

And then she chugged the entire tankard, only pausing once to readjust her grip. Everyone on the table was impressed and cheered her on.

Once the alcohol was transferred from the tankard to Mariella's stomach, the evening got a lot louder and merrier. Quickly, everyone brought their own pocket money to the table, which, added to Mariella's savings, was more than enough for a keg of decent firewhiskey. And just as she had said she would, Mariella went and bought one as her guests filed out the door, ready to find themselves a spot somewhere outside, with a couple of logs to sit on, where they could illegally enjoy the beverage in peace.

They ended up within throwing distance of the Shrieking Shack which hadn't actually been shrieking for decades according to Hogsmeade staff and locals, and settled down. From their spot, they could see the other pupils coming and going from and to the station, which kept conversation going for hours on end.

While Scorpius enjoyed seeing his friends getting more and more drunk – to the point that Shrew started flirting with Bagman and Bagman tittered like the petite blonde girl of which she was the complete opposite, and Prince and Mariella tried to sing 'Bring me little water Slyvie' in harmony, body percussion and all – he didn't entirely participate. His body was itchy and restless, as if there were energy inside that wanted to be spent but couldn't.

He rued the fact that he hadn't seen James today. Even though it just hadn't been advisable, with all the activity in the castle due to the Hogsmeade visit, and him having to hang around the birthday girl as per her absolute and absolutist wish, he still felt like he had missed out on the best part of the day.

It felt curiously empty.

Just another piece of evidence that the spell was messing with him. Withdrawal symptoms. As if it were his drug. He sipped on his cup, and the firewhiskey burned as it went down his throat.

Mariella sat down next to him, laughing a roaring laugh, and topped up his cup even though it wasn't even half empty. "Come on, Coco! Sing along! Carry on, carry on... As if nothing really mattered...!"

He didn't want to ruin her day or incur her wrath, so he obliged, and sang and laughed along with them. Thankfully, most all of them were either too drunk to notice his half-heartedness, or just didn't care.

That was, until, while they were on the thirteenth repetition of 'What shall we do with a drunken wizard', a couple strolled by.

In the dim light of the street lamps, they should have been unrecognizably one couple of many. There were countless Hogwarts pupils like them, making their way back to the school with bags filled with Honeydukes' and Zonko's merchandise, and their noses and cheeks reddened from butterbeer or firewhiskey or both.

But Scorpius recognised the black hair and the confident stride first. Then, he recognised the dark blond hair and the unnecessarily short skirt he had once liked so much.

Neither James nor Sarah looked in his direction.

Before long, they were out of sight again. Even though he'd only seen them from the side, and from a considerable distance, and in dim street lamp light, Scorpius was certain that he'd seen them holding hands. Or that Sarah's hand had been resting on Potter's gallantly proffered elbow.

He downed his cup which made him cough violently. The others laughed. Shrew thumped on his back while Mariella exchanged his depleted cup for a full one.

To his horror, the first two pints of firewhiskey only made the image sharper, and it came with an awful, unsavoury taste of bile.

But then, it finally became fuzzy. Blurry, even. Then, rapidly, blotchy. Holey. Black.

/

He woke up in Shrew's bed the next morning – Shrew himself was lying on the floor for some reason, wearing Prince's underwear – and didn't remember a thing that had happened after leaving the Three Broomsticks, except for a dim recollection of a lot of alcoholic beverages, spin-the-bottle and increasingly convincing Freddie Mercury impersonations.

Their part of the Slytherin table was uncharacteristically quiet at breakfast, tired, hungover, headachy, somewhat prone to heaving, but also deeply satisfied. McGonagall's disapproving glower from the teacher's table did nothing to dim that mood.

One look around to the Gryffindor table did, however. Scorpius caught James Potter smiling and nodding in greeting. Smiling and nodding at a trio of girls who had just arrived in the Great Hall. They were settling down at Ravenclaw table, quite close to the doors where they always sat.

Sarah lifted her hand and wriggled her fingers at James before settling down.

Scorpius wished his pumpkin juice were firewhiskey.

/

Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup by a margin of ninety points due to having annihilated Hufflepuff twice that season. Tiffany was bitter for two whole days but overcame the bitterness by deciding to focus on the end-of-term exams that were quickly rushing at all the students like a horde of angry hippogriffs.

Scorpius performed poorly in his Transfiguration exam because none of the exam questions had anything to do with invisibility or ropes. Professor McGonagall glanced over the rim of her spectacles with a faintly disapproving expression, then noted something down in the ledger before her and just said "Next".

After being admitted in the library again under the relentless, frowning scrutiny of Madam Pince, Scorpius found that the pile of books James had reserved for himself that Saturday was still there, untouched. He took the sign away, crumpled it up and flung it into the waste bin, irrationally angry.

Every single morning during breakfast, the Slytherin table became a little war zone. Everyone was upset and strung up about the exams, particularly Mariella and Prince were at each other's throats. Each was accusing the other of messing up their Potion's exam which Professor Smith, in a moment of unadulterated ingenuity, had decided should be done in partner work because "that's how the students are used to working, and it's closer to actual brewing conditions for the potions the students will be required to brew. It's best for everyone and has nothing but advantages".

In direct defiance of this sentiment, Mariella accused Prince of being too stupid to count to thirteen, and Prince accused Mariella of being to dense to tell thistleroot from greyroot, until it all dissolved in a big argument that ended with Mariella snidely making fun of Prince and Shrew being "faggoty little loverboys" because of their drunken underwear swap literally everyone in house Slytherin knew about by now. In the end, everyone on the table – and possibly a handful of Ravenclaw students sitting in earshot – felt offended and seethed silently.

Scorpius found it hard to swallow around an odd lump in his throat and pretended to read the _Daily Prophet_.

If only the _Daily Prophet_ hadn't been plastered with pictures of Harry J. Potter who was currently being officially suggested for the position of Head Auror and thus compelled to publicly endorse this and denounce that and give interviews about some topic or another. Scorpius wondered if the _Prophet_ got an extra knut for every photo of Potter senior they printed. His eyes were staring at him from virtually every page.

And damn if they didn't look exactly like James'. Even with the glasses.

Not that he would know for sure, though. After all, James didn't look at him, ever.

Not when they met in the hallway.

Not when they sat in the Great Hall for breakfast at the same time, with literally no one obstructing the line of sight.

Not even when he had his cock in his mouth.

He summoned him to the trophy room every single evening, and he dutifully came every single evening – in both senses of the word. He dutifully handed in his weapon and dutifully let himself be tied up and was dutifully aroused and it felt wonderful to Scorpius, exhilarating, exciting, forbidden, but-

But still, something-

It was on Sunday, the day before the N.E.W.T.s would begin, five days before the end of the exam period, six days before James would board the Hogwarts Express for the last time and leave. On that Sunday afternoon, James looked around in the apparently empty trophy room as he stood with his back to the bookshelf and said, "I want to ask a favour." His voice fell to an uncertain whisper. "Please... Please, let me touch you back."

/**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Uhm. There's more... you know... kinky smut. And teenage introspection, which is probably a great deal more offensive than the smut. Enjoy, if at all possible!_

/

**Chapter 15**

/

For a short moment, Scorpius was stumped – and speechless with something that felt a lot like overwhelming happiness bursting inside of his chest.

"Just once," James suggested, nervous due to the lack of any sort of feasible response to his request. "Please?"

Reality quickly snapped back into place, however, and turned that giddy feeling sour.

_It's not _me_ you want to touch._

_You cannot touch _me_ at all._

Scorpius flung the binding spell at him with more force than would have been necessary. The knots were indeed tight enough this time to make James grunt.

"Please," he begged again, through the discomfort. "Please. Just one time, I want to-"

He wanted keep listening to his pleading. James pleaded so beautifully. But he also couldn't bear it, so he fumbled a handkerchief out of James' trouser pocket and stuffed it into his mouth to shut him up.

The way he reacted to him by now, though, the way he tossed his head, and moaned and sighed and huffed through his nose, the way he rolled his hips and enjoyed himself, it fogged up Scorpius' thinking. Carried him away.

Later he reasoned that his abstinence from Calor Cupiditatis probably had something to do with it all. Withdrawal must have been making him more and more needy, and feeble-minded.

Just before James was about to come, Scorpius stopped.

He pointed his wand at the knot that bound James' left hand and said the words. The knot came undone and the bit of rope vanished into thin air.

James took a moment to realise that his hand was freed, and quickly used it to pull the gag out of his mouth. "Thank you. I just- I-"

Scorpius wanted that touch to be so special. He wanted it to be everything, absolutely everything. But when James' fingers gingerly brushed his hair, he remembered that it couldn't be. It couldn't be for a million different reasons.

He remembered that he couldn't let him touch anywhere near his chest, because he lacked the boobs James was expecting, or anywhere near his crotch, because of the erection straining against his pants there, or anywhere near his chin, because he had a prickly little growth there that wasn't exactly fit to be called "beard" yet but would identify him as male nonetheless. Even his face upwards of his mouth might be too dangerous – he might recognise the male bone structure of it, or even the wide forehead that ran in the Malfoy family. His throat was out of the question as well, due to his Adam's apple. Even his hair might be too risky – he could rip one out by accident – or intentionally – and then trace it back.

James' index finger grazed his right ear and Scorpius flinched away. What if he realised that he didn't have his earlobe pierced and adorned with an earring, like just about all the girls of Hogwarts had?

"Don't- please don't pull away." James actually sounded distressed as he lost contact, his fingers twitching, feeling for the invisible person before him while at the same time scared that he might poke their eye out with a wrong movement.

Scorpius reached up to catch his hand before it could touch anywhere else, feeling the incredible warmth of his palm, and then carefully but insistently placed it on the back of his head, reluctantly letting go again.

James understood and sucked in a hissing breath when Scorpius got back to what he had been doing previously. Only this time, James had a way to dictate the rhythm, tempo and depth, and he exploited it for what it was worth. He dug his fingers into his hair and pushed and pulled and held him in place relentlessly.

Scorpius enjoyed the momentary role reversal. Much, much more than he knew he should.

When James had left the trophy room that evening, leaving Scorpius behind sitting on the floor, dealing with the wetness inside his own trousers and the aftertaste in his mouth, Scorpius took pleasure in knowing that he had witnessed a side of James Sirius Potter that no one else had ever seen, possibly not even James himself. A base, vulgar, decidedly improper side. A side he had also helped create, carve out of a cold block of stone, having known that it had been trapped in there.

The next day, James came his way in the corridor and didn't even glance at him. His gaze slid off as if he didn't exist.

Right there, in the corridor, Scorpius realised that he was going through the same damn thing over again. That thing he had with James – perverted, one-sided and illegal though it was – basically was the same thing he'd had with Sarah. He almost choked as he laughed to himself upon realisation.

Anonymous notes via owls. Clandestine meetings. Getting frisky. Revealing oneself to somebody else. But then, in public – a perfect stranger. Putting on a perfect, spotless mask. Apparently without effort.

It was endlessly frustrating. Even though he had seen James Potter more completely than anyone else, had been closer to him than anyone before, Potter still managed to keep the same, steady distance, and to keep his immaculate persona.

As if that which happened in the trophy room every evening just rolled off him like water off a diricawl's back. As if nothing was happening at all, or as if it were happening to a phantom that only existed in the trophy room - as if it wasn't the 'public' James Potter that was the true phantom -, to a ghost he slipped off of his shoulders when he stepped out through that door, and not actually to himself.

And in a few days, he would be gone, and there would never be the slightest piece of evidence that anything at all had ever happened. Before long, he'd probably even convince himself that it had all been an odd dream, or perhaps a rumour or an urban legend, something that might have happened to a friend of a friend but probably hadn't ever happened to anyone, really, something insubstantial and unreal, made up.

This thought kept Scorpius awake that night. He had more of James Potter than anyone, but at the same time, he had next to nothing at all.

He still couldn't, wouldn't figure out _why_ he wanted to have him in the first place.

Faintly he remembered that, once upon a time, it all had to do with getting the best of him.

Distinctly he remembered the warmth and pressure of his hand on the back of his head and the soft touch of his little finger on the back of his neck, hot against the flushed heat of his own skin.

He prayed that Mr Santini would reply soon so he could do something against the shiver in his heart.

/

After that sleepless night, and after another almost escalating breakfast that again featured the word "faggot", Scorpius resolved to not write any more summoning notes. He decided that he needed to stay away from all of it for a bit – knowing that this "bit" was essentially "forever". Thinking about doing it left him restless, not doing it put him on edge and every quill he saw made his fingertips itch, yet he was determined.

Monday and Tuesday went by in a storm of ever-increasing misery. They received back their marks for the Transfiguration and Potions exams – Scorpius received a '(Barely) Acceptable' in the former and an 'Outstanding' in the latter -, got their term marks for Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Divination, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures or Astronomy, depending on elective, and were examined in History. The exams for Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts would follow on Thursday and Friday. _If_, Scorpius thought suddenly, _we survive that long_. That didn't seem very likely. Another breakfast, another examination, and people might start committing massacres and/or suicide.

The only ones worse off than the sixth years, judging from visual appearance only, were the seventh years. By Tuesday evening, each and every one of them resembled a starved ghoul searching for redemption as they shuffled through the hallways, from one examination that might seal their fate to the next.

Due to the exams that were held over the entire day, from eight in the morning until half past six in the evening, with Ministry staff in attendance whose schedules were also crammed and complex, many seventh year pupils didn't even show up at breakfast or dinner any more because of their irregular examination dates.

James Potter was one of them. Scorpius saw Albus and Lily sitting by themselves on Gryffindor table playing cat's cradle – something Scorpius' mother had once told him brought good luck, more effectively than crossing fingers, and Lily Luna was still young enough to believe in that sort of stuff – but their elder brother never showed up.

Regardless, James was everywhere to Scorpius. He didn't see him with his eyes or hear him with his ears, but in his head, he saw and heard him all the time, in every corridor and every hall, every classroom, even though he never noticed him in return. Wherever Scorpius went, there he already was, like the tortoise that wins the race against the hare. During the exams, particularly in Charms, he would have sworn he could feel his fingers in his hair.

It made sense, Scorpius told himself. Calor Cupiditatis was a Charm-based spell, after all. Perhaps it had infested his wand, too, the same way it had invaded his brain and his bloodstream.

The week grew longer and longer.

Scorpius was tired and stressed but hardly slept at all because there was always some grade or exam to worry about, and always some vicious remark to mentally review over and over again, and a fuzzy memory of James Potter and Sarah Halberman walking and holding hands to regurgitate.

In case he did sleep, he visited empty trophy rooms in his dreams. Or trophy rooms with locked doors. Sometimes he stood on the outside and couldn't get in, and from the inside he could hear the sound James made when he touched him. Sometimes, he was on the inside and couldn't get out, and Sarah and Mariella and Shrew in Prince's underwear were there with him, calling him a faggot and saying "You ruined everything" and "You're not honest, you're just mean!" over and over until eventually Madam Pince broke down the door and gave him a Troll in his Potions exam and he woke up soaked with cold sweat.

Sitting alone in the Slytherin common room with a hot cup of tea in his hands at quarter to six on Friday morning, bone-tired but too wired to go back to sleep for another miserable hour of nightmares in half-sleep, he let the confusion of his life wash over him. He wished he could have talked to Mariella about it, but after witnessing several breakfast fights and hearing her say all those things, he knew that it would be the last talk of that kind he would ever have with her and he didn't want to risk it.

And anyway, everything would be over by Monday, he thought. Or even already by Sunday.

Sunday, the board of teachers would announce if anyone needed to pass the re-entry test at the beginning of next school year to find out of they qualified for seventh year or if they had to repeat sixth once more, and if anyone's grades were so bad that electives had to be re-elected, and if a re-evaluation of the career advice session in fifth year, attended by the parents as well, was deemed necessary.

More importantly, on Sunday at 9.30 in the morning, the Hogwarts Express would leave Hogsmeade Station for King's Cross in London with Hogwarts graduates on board.

_I just have to make it for two more days._

_Or is it 'I just have two more days to make it'?_

So confusing. He sipped the tea and scalded his tongue. The chaos persisted.

/**TBC**

_Yes, yes, I know. Enough with the pining already. I promise the torture of Scorpius Malfoy will be diversified in the next chapter :)_  
_As always, a review would make me very happy_!


	16. Chapter 16

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, non-consensual situations

_This one's really short. Sorry, sorry.  
_

_Thanks to NeverthelessTwin, again, for reviewing! _

/

**Chapter 16**

/

Friday night found the nineteen sixth year students of Slytherin together in the common room, loosely crowded around the big table. On that big table, and in the hands and laps of the people around it, several tankards filled with alcoholic beverages were in evidence. No one really knew where the stuff had come from, and no one asked. None of it was shared with the younger Slytherins, some of which were still awake despite the late hour and hovering about the room, trying to sneak into what seemed like some sort of exclusive, important, conspirative meeting.

It wasn't, though. Just like none of the attendees knew who had brought in the alcohol, none of them consciously knew exactly why they had gathered. They all just had. It had felt like the right thing to do. No one said much, and if they did, it wasn't of any importance. Mostly, they just sat together in mellow silence.

They knew they were supposed to be elated, giddy with relief for getting all their exams over with, for passing another year. But they were all just exhausted.

The common room seemed so empty without all the seventh years, too. Those were in Hogsmeade now, partying. And they would never come back, not really. _Not as students._ That was another thought heavy on Scorpius' mind. From today, _they_ were the new grown-ups of Hogwarts. Future graduates, on the brink of adulthood, mostly clueless about what to do with the rest of their lives, and about the world out there.

He wondered whether the whole castle would feel this empty next year. After all, a bunch of tall people would leave without returning, and the bunch of dwarfish first years that would replace them certainly wouldn't be able to fill all that space, not by half.

Really, though, Scorpius thought as he swished the sweet and sour beer around in is mouth, it's not about the rest of the seventh years. It's all about the one guy. One tall guy, at least nine centimetres taller than him, with broad shoulders and his head held so high, whom he would see exactly one more time, from afar – tomorrow, during the graduation and farewell ceremony.

Who had been the wise ass who said _Sometimes only one person is missing and the whole world seems depopulated_, anyway?

He wondered whether Santini was just taking so long to respond because the list of side effects was so long and because the psychological damage likely to occur was profound and complicated. Because that's mostly how it felt right now. Profound and complicated.

Mariella chose this moment to nudge him with her elbow. He nudged her back, and she nudged back again, harder. He cocked an eyebrow, she wriggled both of hers, then grinned.

Scorpius sighed and sipped on his beer. "Mind your antics, Lawless," he murmured.

Mariella huffed. "Crow, raven, black, Lord Malfoy," she murmured back, complying with the unspoken rule to only talk really quietly as if they were all in church.

"What's that supposed to mean, now?" he asked. _Why do girls insist on always saying such things?_

"It's the sighing and zoning out again, m'lord," she answered with a wry grin. "You're infecting the whole table with your lovelorn melancholia. We've only gathered here to try and appreciate our own scholarly achievements, the quality of a decent beer and also the- lugubrious fugaciousness of our youth – but you've taken a step down mopey lane and it's infecting us. So I felt the urge to intervene."

"I'm not mopey," he said, trying and failing to not sound mopey, so he added, "Shut up."

"I'm simply hoping that this whingeing doesn't have to do with a certain someone who will be leaving us on Sunday."

For two long seconds, Scorpius was petrified. His throat went dry all at once and his face and the tips of his ears became hot. People in earshot were looking at him and Mariella, clearly having tuned in to the conversation. One of them was Anthony Prince, his gaze was almost boring into him. Scorpius imagined him like a crocodile, hungrily waiting for the bait to move close enough – Prince was waiting for him or Mariella to say the word so he could pass the unwanted baton of faggotry on to someone else.

It was only then Scorpius realised that she was talking about _Sarah_.

He exhaled deeply and cleared his throat, hoping that his pause hadn't been noticed. "No, it's just about the Transfiguration exam. Not looking forward to the talk I'm inevitably going to have with McGonagall about it on Sunday at all right now. Or with my parents, after that, for that matter." To make matters worse, his mom had been really good in Transfiguration back in her days, so his bad marks pretty much amounted to bringing dishonour to the entire maternal part of the family. Oh joy.

Mariella paused for a moment, looking at him evenly, before saying, "Well, then", and turning away again. Interest was lost.

Scorpius stayed at the table for another ten minutes, then excused himself and went to bed as one of the first sixth years, unaware that on the other side of that relatively restful night there came a day that would bring two conversations much more fearful and, indeed, more inevitable than either the one waiting for him at home, or the one he'd have with McGonagall on Sunday.

/

The strange sense of melancholia of last night had left everyone else, Scorpius observed. That quiet get-together had worked its magic on the tempers of everyone – or maybe it was just because the exams were over and the holidays right ahead? No harsh words were exchanged the entire morning, or only in joking. People seemed to be sitting closer together, they looked at each other more openly. Basically, things were like they had been before the end of term, as if time had been turned back. The relief made the pumpkin juice taste sweeter.

Except that Scorpius couldn't help but notice how quiet the Great Hall was. It was almost depopulated, threadbare, and it reminded him of a mangy dog whose fur had fallen out in patches. The ceiling shrouded with clouds that mirrored the overcast sky outside did the rest to complete the strangely gloomy picture. There even was a chill in the air on this unseasonably cold day in June.

Two particularly bare patches had formed around the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, Scorpius observed. Literally everyone whose last name was Potter or Halberman and their associates were missing.

Scorpius scowled into his cup and tried not to turn around all the time. Instead, he tried to focus on the people around him – his friends, his fellow Slytherins, his comrades – and they repaid him with kindly refraining from uttering the f-word, with diverting his attentions via conversation he was actually interested in and card games he was really good at, until it was time for lunch. Slowly, steadily, the hall filled with students, until it almost didn't seem as if anyone was missing at all. Anticipation buzzed through the Great Hall.

Just before 1 p.m., the doors opened up and admitted Headmistress McGonagall in a festive, dark mauve robe and matching wide-brimmed hat, accompanied by two people whose somewhat dour facial expressions, as well as the scarf pins reading M. Edgecomb BoE and F. Watson BoE, identified them as Ministry employees of the Board of Education. Behind them, the four Heads of House followed, and behind them finally came, prefects first, the oldest members of the Hogwarts student body who would leave this hall as ex-members.

The graduates, clad in the best robes their parents had thought to pack for them last September 1st, entered the Great Hall in loose double file under the spontaneous applause of the other students and that of the teachers already sitting at the head table.

The looseness of the double file certainly had to do with the fact that some of them looked more than a little hungover, Scorpius noted, and gave the impression that they had fought their way out of bed after maybe three hours of sleep barely twenty minutes ago. Mariella nudged him, pointed at Lloyd Christopher, their Quidditch team captain – former captain, now -, and snickered. Lloyd appeared to be wearing his robe inside out and he was walking with his eyes more than fifty percent closed. It was only by the patient, long-suffering grace of Kelly McDonald guiding him that he made it all the way to the front of the Hall without running into someone, or swerving straight into the Hufflepuff table, or just falling asleep on his feet there and then.

Scorpius let his eyes wander over the line of students as he clapped along absent-mindedly. He knew their faces, mostly knew their names, and had talked to maybe a handful of them. In fact, apart from all the Slytherin graduates who he obviously knew, at least in passing, due to sharing a common room, there were really only two of them-

Two of them-

Together.

/**TBC**

_Aww hell no! Send me a strongly worded review, if you want to :)  
_


	17. Chapter 17

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Enjoy!_

/

**Chapter 17**

/

Her hand was on his elbow.

They were perfectly in step with each other and they were both smiling mildly at something or another and her _hand_ was on his _elbow_.

All of a sudden, Scorpius felt all that alcohol he had downed that night in Hogsmeade a week ago churn in his stomach again. The old taste of bile was on his tongue. It was one thing to walk around Hogsmeade like that, and another to meet up at the Quidditch pitch, and another to wave at one another from one house table to the next during breakfast.

But this was the graduation ceremony. It was legitimate. Important. A meaningful public declaration.

The ever-present shiver exploded into to a shudder that took over his whole body for just a moment.

He followed them with his eyes. They walked like a bridal pair, lacking only the white dress and veil for Sarah. They even walked in the exact rhythm of Wagner's Bridal Chorus that insisted on playing in his head just that second.

James turned his head towards her and bowed down just a little to hear whatever she was saying to him over the general din in the Hall. He looked her in the eye, smiled, nodded, replied something. Rinse, lather, repeat. Scorpius felt something start to boil inside of him with every new round of this process.

When his sister called out to him from the Gryffindor table, he turned away from Sarah. Once James' attention was somewhere else, Sarah glanced around, and finally toward the Slytherin table.

The effect it had on the others – on Prince and Shrew in particular – was instantaneous, sparking the conversation that had been waiting to break out ever since the couple had been spotted. Hushed whispers were exchanged that heavily featured the names 'Halberman' and 'Potter' and variations of 'What on Earth?' and 'Did I miss something?'. Shrew immediately stood up from his chair and, ducking behind the other Slytherins' backs in a lousy attempt to not be conspicuous, made his way to gather information from Tami Patil, a fifth year Slytherin who was the cousin of the seventh year Gryffindor Kamala Patil whose twin sister Kamya Patil of Ravenclaw was best friends with Sarah Halberman. Scorpius could see both Kamala and Kamya currently taking their places at the front, next to Kamala's boyfriend Paul Richards and the other third of the girly Ravenclaw trio, Olivia Corner, respectively.

As the procession got momentarily bogged down by too many partially hungover, partially unresponsive people with too little space to manoeuvre in, Sarah glanced directly at Scorpius. Just for a fraction of a second, but she did, Scorpius saw it, and felt it somewhere deep in his body, a piercing sensation.

It was a knowing look.

She knew. Somehow, something had happened, and now she had her hand on his elbow as she walked beside him, and _she knew_.

"Oy, Malfoy," someone called, and the tone made it clear that it hadn't been the first time. He flinched and whipped back around.

In front of him on the table there sat the biggest owl he had ever seen, regally adjusting her feathers with her beak and tucking her impressively wide, brown-and-black-banded wings in. On her left leg she carried a tubular, silver-grey object roughly the size of a small cigar tube.

"Get that beast off 'a the table, Malfoy," Bagman snarled, mopping at her lap with a napkin. That 'beast' had apparently used the length of the Slytherin table as a landing strip, knocking over just about every cup or glass in the vicinity on descent. "What's it doing here at this time of day anyway?"

Scorpius complied wordlessly. He felt numb, which was curious because he had planned on feeling excited and relieved when Santini's reply finally came, as he fumbled the tube off of the owl's leg. When he succeeded, it promptly rose back into the air and vanished with several powerful strokes of its wings, leaving in its wake a flurry of downy feathers, puddles of pumpkin juice, and one Scorpius Malfoy with his heart in his throat.

"What's that?", Mariella inquired with her usual half-interest. Then she noticed his face, frowned and repeated with a more serious tone, "What's that? Malfoy?"

He swallowed. His voice sounded papery. "Nothing important."

Thankfully, Mariella didn't get the chance to pry. All the graduates had finally succeeded in taking their designated places at the foot of the teacher's table, facing the rest of the Great Hall, and McGonagall stepped up to the lectern for the usual graduation speech.

His father had told Scorpius that, although he had a complicated history with him, Albus Dumbledore's speeches had never been boring. The old man had known how to come to the point quickly and wittily, and there had been something about his nature that compelled people to listen. Even a whole big hall full of haughty adolescents and unruly children had hushed when he spoke.

Minerva McGonagall generally also had this effect, but after three, four years, one became somewhat desensitized and unimpressed by it. Scorpius guessed that it was because her speeches were so unlike Albus Dumbledore's: They were long and rehearsed, processing the checklist one item after the other, full of propriety and mindfulness. She congratulated the student body and the graduates for a year of great efforts and achievements, then thanked the Ministry for the cooperation, delineated the involvement of the two people in attendance and emphasized that it was another great achievement of- nobody knew exactly of what, because most of the audience, possibly including the two Ministry people, had tuned out already. McGonagall soldiered on, disregarding the low murmur rising throughout her audience, exactly like she had the five years before.

"Shrew!" Anthony Prince shout-whispered across the table trying to get the attention of his fellow student who had just returned to his original seat. "Hey, Shrew! What did she say? What's the deal?"

"Shhh," Mariella hissed and swatted at Prince as McGonagall's piercing gaze fell upon the Slytherin table for a long, dangerous moment.

The second the searchlight-eyes moved on, a murmured conversation started. Shrew was in the middle of it all, so all the attention was on him.

Scorpius used the moment to screw the cap off of the tube-shaped thing he had absent-mindedly kept in his hand. It came off quickly. With a trembling index finger, he fished out the rolled-up parchment inside and unrolled it. It was a fairly long letter. He smoothed it down on his thigh and read the tiny, slanting script.

_Esteemed Mr Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,  
Firstly let me express my gratitude to You for Your interest in  
my work and especially in the aforementioned 'Some Magicks  
and their Usage'. …_

"I asked Patil, but she knew next to nothing. She didn't have a chance to talk to either of her cousins since last night, since they both only came back from Hogsmeade, like, around five this morning."

"Shrew, get to the point."

_ The book was written from the basis of my graduation thesis in  
which I specialized in Charm-based transformative, non-trans-  
figurative spells with organic components..._

"Patience, man. Since Patil is clueless, I tried with Jess Corner's bff. Now _she_ said-"

_ ... as a compendium of excerpts of some standard works that  
do not know or use the distinction, such as E. T. A. Kaufmann's  
'Charming Charms: An Anthology' and Giovanni Gabbiani's  
'Ancient Spells and Charms Revisited'..._

"-that Jess told her that Olivia told her that... well..."

"Spit it out or I'll go and ask her myself!"

"Yeah, yeah. Look, what she told me wasn't all that clear. Apparently, there was a looot of alcohol involved yesterday, so the accounts vary. But basically, both Halberman and Potter were totally stocious, and somehow-"

_...academic interest in the particular spell of Calor Cupiditatis,  
or 'Heat of Passion' in standard Latin, is well-deserved. No less  
a person than Petrova Petrovich herself includes the spell in  
her 'The 19__th__ Century Through The Feminists' Eye', a monu-  
mental..._

On the lectern, McGonagall raised her voice slightly. "-would like to especially honour outstanding achievements that sets an example and shines a light for all the following generations of witches and wizards. Ms Edgecomb, if you would be so kind? For the perfect score in the exams for Charms, Herbology _and_ Ancient Runes, we want to congratulate Alyssa Goldstein of House Hufflepuff."

The Hufflepuff table burst into cheer.

"Apparently, what happened was, she laid her heart out for him and told him that she had always wanted him back and that even though they broke up because of mutually acknowledged incompatibility yadda yadda yadda... apparently, he then asked her whether _she_ had been stalking him and writing him letters and stuff. Also said something about invisible persons or ghosts or something. As I said, lots of firewhiskey." Shrew made a drinking motion with his hand, stretching out his thumb and pinky finger.

_- exemplary spell of late hysteria treatment that predates the  
French Tremoussoir of 1734 and the Manipulator of 1869 has  
been, as You have certainly read in 'Some Magicks and their  
Usage', has been known to cause arousal up to 'hysterical par-  
oxysm', today acknowledged as 'orgasm', in male, female and  
non-human mammalian patients. In concept, the spell is quite  
quintessential in so far as-_

"-outstanding achievements in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Iris Mariah Jordan of Gryffindor-"

Loud cheers from the Gryffindor table and the Gryffindor portion of the graduates as Iris stepped forward and accepted a framed certificate and a handshake from Professor Finnigan who seemed giddier about the whole thing than she was.

"-and long story short, Halberman admits that _she's_ the mysterious, possibly-invisible stalking-and-letter-writing person and they drink and chat and face-battle the whole night, right at the Broomsticks."

There was a short, baffled silence on the table that coincided with momentary silence from McGonagall.

"What, that's it?" Prince seemed personally offended.

"That's it." Shrew shrugged.

"But- What?"

"What _what_? That's all we'll ever know, unless you go ask Potter or Halberman themselves, and they also might be completely blank what with all the drink-"

_I understand your implication is that the spell in question might  
develop what was then known as 'dust' and have a retro-reflex-  
ive impact on the caster in a variety of ways related or even  
seemingly unrelated to the original intention of the spell. Indeed,  
this phenomenon, 'pulviscolo' in Italian, has been observed in  
a great number of spells, as Alfredo Leone's thorough examina-  
tion of 1993, 'Incantesimo Fantasmagorico', records such trans-  
figurative spells as-_

"So basically, they've been, what, together all along? In, like, stealth mode? And they told no one?"

Mariella snorted indecently. "She even forgot to tell Potter, apparently."

Bagman cocked a condescending eyebrow and looked to the front where Sarah was half-hidden by taller classmates. "That's a bit messed-up, yo. And more importantly," she turned to Anthony Prince, "it also doesn't count, so forget about your stupid betting game. You won't get a single, measly knut from me."

_However,_

"D'you think she, like, followed him around invisibly? Like, everywhere? To the bathroom?" Shrew murmured with a partially disgusted, partially curious expression. Bagman grimaced and looked like she wanted to throw a napkin at his face for even saying such a thing.

_However, the recommendation of 14 days of maximum daily  
usage of the spell does not, to my knowledge, refer to any in-  
stance of 'dusting' in the spell. A spell of this nature would, of  
course, never be applied if this were the spellcraft of  
this particular spell is not prone to __any__ type of 'dusting' issue._

Scorpius tried to swallow. There was a lump in his throat, pushing up.

"Makes you wonder what exactly a virgin like Potter would do with a kinky chick like Halberman. I mean, come _on_," Prince drawled as Mariella rolled her eyes at him. "She's a borderline nympho and Potter obviously has a complex."

"Principles, Tony. They're called principles," Mariella commented drily.

"When a perfectly healthy 17 year old chooses celibacy, that's a damn complex, Lawless. We've had this convo before, I'm having a massive déjà-vu. May I remind you that you agreed with me last time?"

_I added the recommendation according to the Alamanach Médi-  
cal of 1856. In fact, I am currently looking at the edition I keep  
in my private library and the annotation reads, and I quote:  
"Excessive carnal activity, over a constant period of time longer  
than a fortnight, may cause tenderness, soreness, chafing and con-  
secutive symptoms such as rashes and other skin problems, carpal  
tunnel syndrome, pregnancy (where applicable) etc."._

"For outstanding achievements in Potions, as well as, if I might add, Quidditch, we want to congratulate James Sirius Potter of House Gryffindor."

The applause was almost deafening as it echoed through the Great Hall. Someone on Gryffindor table – probably Tate – had started a 'Gryf-fin-dor! Gryf-fin-dor!'-chant. Somewhere down the Slytherin table, Tiffany Collins booed once. Brice Parkinson audibly grumbled something about shutting somebody up with a beater's bat to the face.

_ Other side effects are improbable for they have not been ob-  
served in a spell that was applied regularly and rigorously  
throughout a century. Indeed, given the nature of the spell, any  
defect would have caused great public interest or even outrage,  
but there is __not a single mention__ of carnal, emotional or other  
transference in __any__ literature I have seen, and my study of the  
matter has been, I can assure you, thorough._

"Malfoy, are you okay? You're really pale. Oy, are you gonna hurl?"

Looking up from the letter that was closing with the usual empty, long-winded phrases and from those hair-thin double underlines that were obviously drawn with a ruler, Scorpius faced his fellow Slytherin. Mariella looked back at him, leaning away from him a little in preparation against the stream of vomit she was expecting. Honest worry was on her face.

Right next to and behind Mariella's head, he could see Potter shaking hands with Professor Smith as he presented him with another framed certificate. Professor Finnigan slapped Potter on the shoulder like a proud football coach as he made his way back to the Gryffindor graduates.

Sarah wove her way through the crowd of almost-ex-pupils – from the Ravenclaw cluster and through the Hufflepuff group to the Gryffindors, arriving there at the same time as James. She waited her turn with a wide smile, then hugged him after everyone else was done with the hugging and shoulder-patting, and gave him a peck on the lips.

Scorpius thought someone might have taken all the air out of the room.

The ceremony continued once the Quidditch atmosphere had subsided. A Hufflepuff student and two Slytherins were getting their acknowledgement of superior performance in Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Astronomy and History of Magic.

"Malfoy?" Mariella snapped her fingers in front of his nose to get his attention. "Talk to me. Is there something wrong?"

His fingers seemed to take an awfully long time until they responded to his brain's command to roll up Santini's letter and clumsily stuff it back into the tube.

"Oh, no, no," Mariella suddenly murmured, only for herself and him to hear as the others joined in applause for Slytherin's Kelly McDonald and Ian Knightley who shared the highest possible mark in the Arithmancy exam. "Don't tell me that this is about Halberman still."

Scorpius shook his head. Or he meant to shake his head, but it only jerked. "No. That's- No, it doesn't have to do with her." Except that it really had, but not in _that_ way any more.

Everything was so clear now. Obvious.

_Obviously fucked up._

At the front, Sarah and James were still standing close together. They were in the second row so their fellow graduates blocked the view of anything below the neck, but Scorpius knew in his gut that their fingers were intertwined.

He felt a sting in his eyes and a rising shudder in his chest and knew that he had to get out.

He got up, almost stumbling over the bench, and walked out of the Great Hall at a pace. The last steps, he all but ran and threw himself against the doors, pushing only far enough to slide out onto the mercifully deserted corridor.

There still didn't seem to be enough air in it, and it blurred around the edges before his eyes.

As the doors fell shut behind him, he ran.

/**TBC**

_So basically, the __secret ingredient_ is... nothing! :)

_Be nice, leave a review if you have the time. And/or come back tomorrow for the antepenultimate chapter, maybe?  
_


	18. Chapter 18

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_In which Scorpius has a long conversation with the only sane person in this fic. Enjoy!_

/

**Chapter 18**

/

"Scorpius!"

He looked around trying to find a way to hide or get away, but there wasn't one without getting soaked. Right next to the front steps of the castle, the eaves created a small dry spot, sheltered from the rain even as the wind drove it diagonally through the air. He was standing right in the middle of that spot, arms crossed and hands jammed into his armpits against the chill, and against the shuddering and against bodily falling apart.

And anyway, she had already seen him, so there was no use in fleeing. He sniffled and pointedly turned away from her, hoping it would deter her.

Of course it didn't. Mariella hurried over to him with her arms lifted against the rain. She cursed the weather when she arrived on the dry spot, and then continued cursing him.

"What on Earth is going on with you? Why the hell would you leave in the middle of the happening like that?"

"You did, too," he remarked. One could hear the cheering from here, coming in bursts and waves. The ceremony had reached the point where each student was called up in alphabetical order to receive the rolled-up parchment that was practically their degree certificate, so it was still very much in full swing.

Mariella gave him a look that shut him up.

They stood around for a good minute. The only sounds were the whooshing of wind and raindrops hitting the earth, the castle's stones and the leaves of the tree, interspersed with faint applause.

"I messed up, Ella," it tumbled out of his mouth. "I didn't mean to but then it was out of control and it happened and I thought it was alright because it was all that stupid spell but then it wasn't. It was _me_. I didn't mean to. I didn't know. I didn't mean to." He wished his voice wouldn't corkscrew like it did. He sighed, blinked the sting out of his eyes and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"I... have... no idea exactly what you're on about," Mariella said, "but if it is about Halberman-"

"God, shut _up_," Scorpius snapped more sharply than necessary, just barely suppressing a sob, wishing to never hear her name again, ever. "It's not about her."

Irritated, Mariella snapped back, "Well, then it's about _Potter_, apparently." She had meant it as a joke, a scathing, somewhat quip-ish remark, meant to rebuke him and his unfriendly stubbornness when she was just here to help.

Scorpius looked straight at her, wide eyed and silent, for a long moment. Then he turned away.

Mariella's eyes went big and round and her eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline. Her mouth fell open, then closed again. It was possibly the first time in six years of knowing her that Scorpius had seen her speechless. Almost a shame that he couldn't enjoy this moment at all, and that he wouldn't be able to share it with anyone, he thought.

"What?" she asked quietly once she found her tongue again, but it was one of those strictly rhetorical 'What's. He was glad he didn't actually have to repeat it out loud or clarify.

_It's about Potter._ It didn't get any clearer than that. Everything beyond that was a big, messy, fucked-up chaos, but that was a staggeringly simple fact.

Another minute or two of silence went by.

He actually expected her to leave. All those ugly exchanges with Prince at breakfast had taught him and everyone in earshot what she thought about the whole issue in general, and now that he thought about it, he remembered her making some snarky comments a few years back when Dean Shepperd and Michael Boot got together. Not particularly cruel or offensive, simply negative, to express muted criticism and personal distaste. It just hadn't been important back then. It didn't have anything to do with him at the time.

But Mariella didn't leave. He wasn't certain whether he was allowed to feel grateful for that.

"I thought you hated him," she finally said. "He's a prick with a bloated ego who doesn't look half as good as everyone thinks he does. He hit you in the face. Twice. And he got away with it just because his last name is Potter."

Scorpius huffed a laugh out his nose and answered, "I _do_ hate him." If that wasn't the truth.

"But you also... what, you also _love_ him?" She made a disgusted sound. "Are you channelling your inner queer telenovela protagonist?"

"I- I don't- It's..." Sentences died in his mouth before ever making it out. He shrugged helplessly. "I've no idea. It didn't start out that way at all. Then it just went on for a while, and then I thought it was lust, and just a spell, too but turns out it's not, so... I don't know." He hugged himself a little tighter. "It's fucked up."

"Yeah, _that_ I get," she said and almost sounded like the Mariella he knew.

Silence again.

"So, that spell you just mentioned..." She trailed off.

"Used it on Sarah first. It's, uh. Heat of Passion," he quoted from Santini's letter, putting emphases so she would know it was a name. He could almost hear Mariella's eyebrows shoot up again. "Used it on Potter by accident at first. It made him go away, which was good, and it was- it was hilarious. But then I- It, uh. I saw him, and heard him, and..." It was hardly surprising that it was difficult to explain it to her, given that he couldn't even explain it to _himself_ within _his own head_. Things had just happened and turned out the way they had. Crazy.

"You _saw_ him?" Mariella asked warily. "Like... wanking?"

"I... sort of... made him." He coughed and wiped his nose again.

Mariella was speechless again. It was like two hole-in-ones in a row, but he could never tell anyone and there wasn't a soul in sight to bear witness. He sighed.

Finally, she inhaled mightily, and then held up her hand as if to stop him talking even though he hadn't said another word. Apparently, she decided to move on those sub-issues of the whole, tangled mess that she had a chance to deal with and understand at this point. "But, uh, Malfoy, you're still here. That kind of stuff would get you expelled for sure. I mean, we're basically sitting on an island that time itself has forgotten sometime around the prudest periods of the middle ages. They haven't expelled you yet. So- how does this work? Exactly?" Before he could even gather enough words to continue the confession, she suddenly gasped. "Oh my _god_. It was _you_. The invisible person Potter mentioned yesterday at Hogsmeade. It wasn't the firewhiskey talking. You watched him wank while being invisible yourself."

He nodded once and said nothing else. No sense in telling her about also tying him to a bookshelf at this point, he supposed.

"And the letters? And the stalking?"

"Uhm, it wasn't _stalking_, really." Following wasn't stalking, damnit. "And... the letters were... they were notes. Summons. So he would... come meet me."

"You blackmailed him into coming to meet Invisible You and then used a spell on him to make him wank in front of you?"

That sounded much more twisted than it had to, so Scorpius corrected her, "He didn't always wank in front of me. I also- I touched him. Made him feel good."

... there. Much better.

Mariella only stared.

"He _liked_ it," he professed weakly, then sniffled again. _He liked it so much he wanted to touch me back._

Mariella continued staring at him, baffled and a tad disgusted. "So all those days when you just disappeared from the common room for an hour..."

"I went to see him," he finished so she couldn't continue with something like 'you went to meet up with the dude you coerced into having sexual activities with you'.

"Good Mordred, Malfoy. That's... Wow." It wasn't a good sort of 'wow'. At all.

"I know." And he'd done it anyway.

"So, uh..." She didn't know how to go on, though - the tangled mess was too messy for that - and didn't say anything else. For a while, no one spoke. The rain came down harder for a bit, creating a white noise all around.

"Are you going to tell the others anything?" he asked. He pictured living in the dormitory for another year. The other boys would charm and ward their beds against him in case he turned into a sex beast of some sort. No one would use the showers again when he was there, neither in the Slytherin dungeons, nor for Quidditch – and they'd probably chuck him out of the team before long, too. Several dozens of broomstick-related slurs sprang to mind immediately.

He wondered whether Constance Bagman shared Mariella's views and if she would ask Professor Smith for a new Potions partner.

Mariella gave an unladylike snort and crossed her arms. "What a dumb fucking question."

Scorpius breathed in relief. Small mercies. Surprisingly, his knees were shaking a little.

"Are _you_ going to tell _him_?" she suddenly asked and he was very tempted to repeat her response back at her, snort and all. But then he didn't because the mere thought of confessing to James made him too queasy to even joke about it.

"I mean, he kind of deserves to know, doesn't he?" Mariella clarified, speaking as if to herself. "Halberman totally lied to him when she revealed herself as the invisible perv- uh, person. Methinks Potter only strutted into the Great Hall with her on his arm today because he thinks that he's got a connection with her, or maybe owes her or something." She tapped her chin with a finger. "Like, his sexual awakening. Forcible... sexual... awakening." She muttered, "Merlin, that is seriously messed up."

Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. "They make a good couple," he said. His voice only sounded a little green.

"Bullshit," Mariella said emphatically. "No, they don't. They broke up after less than two months last time for a reason, or many reasons, and they were already on a rough patch one week into the relationship. Nothing was ever _good_ with them."

He pressed his lips together, fighting down a feeling of base satisfaction at her words. Instead, he shrugged again and asked, "So you want me to pre-emptively ruin it for them this time?"

"It _is_ already ruined, Malfoy. It's a dead relationship walking. Potter won't be able to keep up with Halberman's taste for the most popular man in the room once they leave Hogwarts, and Halberman is a shallow, hollow-skulled bimbo, way too vapid for someone like Potter. It started with a goddamned, big, fat _lie_, for Morgane's sake. Also," she added with a tone of voice dripping with _This Should Be Obvious_, "this isn't just about them. It's also about _you_. I don't care for your misery and I won't bear that funereal expression on your face for another year. I'd hope it goes away once you've cleared up the mess you've created. Like you already know you should, deep down in that shrivelled, black raisin you call 'conscience'."

That actually made him smile for a second and laugh softly through his nose. "Telling him won't make me feel better, I guarantee you. Or _him_, for that matter." Scorpius didn't remember the feeling of James' fist hitting his face per se – the floor had knocked the sensation out of his brain right away – but he did remember the pain afterwards, and the glob of coagulated blood sliding out of his nostril while he was sitting in the Hospital Wing. He shivered. "Sarah might tell him eventually anyway so I won't even have to."

"What?" Mariella asked, her voice suddenly piercing. "Halberman _knows_ it was you?"

"Or strongly suspects it," he nodded. That look as she stood in that queue... "She knew about my chameleon spell because I used it to sneak into her detention once. And if Potter told her about... about being aroused by... by an outside force..., she may have put two and two together. I used it on her three times even though she reacted completely differently and probably didn't even know at the time-"

"Malfoy, you're not usually such a complete twit," his friend interrupted him angrily. "Fondling another dude must have melted parts of your brain."

Scorpius looked at her open-mouthed. He was used to her sharp tongue but this vicious level of temper was rare.

"How about you just _think_ for a second?" she asked when he looked at her in stunned, puzzled silence. "Don't you see _any_ way at all in which Halberman might bring your name up again?"

"Yes, I do," he insisted, frowning. He had been over it, in his head, several times for as long as he had been standing around out here. "But if she does, it'd mean exposing herself as a liar, and she _did_ sort-of build her revived relationship on that lie, so-"

"Then imagine, a month from now, _maximum_," Mariella cut him off again, "when Halberman gets tired of Potter and Potter is fed up with Halberman. Imagine the situation. Do you really think that Halberman will give a measly knut about looking like a liar?" She didn't wait for an answer. "What's more- you remember Fred Weasley, don't you? That girl is a vengeful goddamn bitch. If it so happens that Potter gets sick of her first and she wants to take revenge, guess what? She's going to tell everyone – probably McGonagall first and the _Prophet_ second – about how her poor ex-boyfriend got molested at Hogwarts. By someone who is still a student. She could even sell it as a heroic effort to combat rampant depravity at this wonderful institution while she really just wants to shove her ex straight into the limelight. It'd be his personal hell, sexually repressed as he is. Perfect revenge. Maybe she'll even sell his traumatic neurosis as a reason for their break-up, make it a big, dramatic _Witch Weekly_ story, titled '_Some Storms You Cannot Weather_'. It's such a low-hanging fruit it's practically booping her in the vacuous little head."

He really wanted to tell her that she was being overdramatic, that Sarah wouldn't do such a thing because she wouldn't want _that_ sort of publicity and because she really cared for James Potter, and anyway, Potter would be able to prevent it all from happening, what with his famous father and mother and everything.

But then he remembered what she'd done to Fred Weasley II, and that neither his famous dad nor his famous mom – CEOs of Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes Ltd., the wizarding world's most successful joke shop – had managed to do anything much about it. And he remembered that Sarah, at the end of the day, could very much be cold-hearted and vicious.

"If – and only if – you even get to start your seventh year at Hogwarts, you sure as hell aren't going to finish it, Malfoy, and that is fucking unacceptable for me." Mariella stressed the 'me' by pointing at herself. "I will not survive the coming year with nothing but those pea-brains Prince, Bagman and Shrew for company. You may be an irredeemable, recently poofy idiot, and you'd probably even deserve being kicked out and put through the mangle for what you did, but I _need_ you here."

"Ella-"

"Don't 'Ella' me, Malfoy," she shot him down. "You will write another one of your fancy notes to James Potter this evening, and you will go meet him and tell him everything. Not only because it's the _right damn thing_ to do, but also because it'll enable Potter to somehow manage breaking up with Halberman while keeping her wrath contained to save face and spare himself her vengeance. That way, the entire crisis will be avoided and you and your- _assault_ will not become tabloid fodder. Do you understand?"

"I-" He didn't dare to say 'can't do that' out loud, not to her face. Also, his mouth was suddenly very dry.

"Do you understand?" she repeated even more insistingly, each word sharply emphasized, and reminded him awfully of his mother when she was livid.

Meekly, he nodded in compliance.

His heart thudded and spun at the idea of doing that. Potter could kill him and it would be justified, he thought for the second time within a month. By now, he had done him so much wrong that Potter would have been entitled to do most anything to him.

Mostly, though, he was sick with fear of the moments before that.

He had seen James Potter's cool alter ego, the stoic mask that mostly didn't move a muscle and only rarely smiled polite smiles. He had seen him burning with anger and flinging curse words, and he had seen him flushed and sweaty, passionate, commanding, feverish, and devout, and undone.

He hadn't seen him disgusted yet. He wasn't sure whether he would be able to stomach it, especially since this time, Potter would look directly at him for once.

James would look him in the eyes, and he would be disgusted by what he would see.

"Good," Mariella commented his acquiescence. "Don't you dare chicken out or I'll kick your teeth in personally. Got that?"

He nodded again mechanically and tried to just breathe. Since he had left the ceremony early, he hadn't had anything to eat at all since breakfast, yet he felt like actually vomiting now.

"Oh, and Coco?"

He looked up just to see her fist swing at his face.

Her punch wasn't anywhere near as hard and accurate as Potter's, and compared to the bludger it was a mere caress, but it was hard enough to make him yelp in pain and stagger backwards. He staggered onto a slippery, grassy bit and fell on his butt. The rainfall chose that moment to pick up again, and little pinpricks assaulted his stinging face as he scrambled back onto his feet.

"Ow! What the hell, Lawless?" he shouted, holding his cheek.

"That was for groping people without consent, you fuckwit."

She turned away and ran through the rain again, up the stairs and vanished into the castle without another look back at him.

He stood in the rain for long minutes, his trousers and robe dirty and wet, his left cheek smarting and slowly swelling, his knees spongy and his thoughts fluttering in aimless panic. Eventually, he followed Mariella back inside. Unlike her, he didn't care about the rain. He hardly even felt it.

Telling Potter. His thoughts tied themselves in squirming knots about_ Telling Potter._

Unbidden, his brain produced several scenarios of what was going to happen, each worse than the one before. In between, his clever head also informed him that Mariella was probably right about her prognosis and that there was only one possible way to go and still keep the story from becoming a headline, and himself from becoming a homosexual pervert known throughout the wizarding community. Funny how, sitting in the Hospital Wing that day with the threat of James telling McGonagall about it all looming over him, he had shrugged it off so lightly, even made fun of it, but now - now that it was _reality_ - the thought of it made it harder for him to draw breath.

He didn't go back to the Great Hall where the feast had now started, but down to the Slytherin rooms, to change into dry, clean clothes. He did it almost mechanically.

Sitting on his bed, smoothing a piece of parchment down over his thigh just like he had read Santini's letter, he sat and waited for his hand to stop trembling too much.

The note that resulted from this effort was short and simple although writing it had been anything but. He burnt its eight predecessors as well as Santini's letter in the common room fireplace and watched until they had decomposed to black flakes that didn't even look like parchment any more.

The clock struck half past three. The House Cup would be given away by now – Ravenclaw had won it this year by sixty points – and the entire extravaganza would be coming to an end. The thirstiest and most hungover graduates would start making their way to Hogsmeade again within the next hour.

He made his way up to the owlery. For once in his life he wished there were more stairs.

/**TBC**

_Seriously, people. Don't do stuff to other people without their consent. This is fiction, it doesn't work that way in real life. Don't be a fuckwit, or I will come and slap you. Hard and repeatedly, and you won't like it._

_The tides are about to turn. Come back tomorrow for the penultimate chapter!_


	19. Chapter 19

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_Time to face the music!_

/

**Chapter 19**

/

"I'm gonna throw up. I'm gonna throw up." He moved his lips to form those words but didn't say them out loud so his voice wouldn't distract him from the noises outside the door. In order to hear footsteps approaching he hardly even breathed. He hated that his stomach was making loud gurgling noises as it complained about being empty.

He couldn't see his wristwatch – out of reflex and habit, he had applied the chameleon spell on himself before entering the room – but the wandering of the square of light on the floor told him that a lot of time had passed since he had come here, straight from the owlery, and started waiting for Potter.

One last time, waiting for Potter.

He paced, on tiptoes so to not make a sound.

His heart was pounding almost loudly enough to drown out his stomach.

What if he didn't come?

Worse, what if he did?

"Pathetic," he breathed to himself. "Just pathetic, Scorpius. I'm going to throw up." The palms of his hands were sweaty and stung as if with pins and needles. He wiped them against his sides.

What if he came?

Worse, what if he didn't?

Ludicrous ideas festered in his head, of changing schools, moving to Belarus to live there as a hermit and sneak into Durmstrang through a sewer pipe in order to somehow obtain an education. Or to Detroit, USA, to attend Vincent Clortho Inner City Public Wizard School and hope, from afar, that Potter's and Halberman's relationship would last forever against all odds or that, if it didn't, at least the stain on his reputation wouldn't spread over the entire Atlantic Ocean. He wondered whether his parents would disinherit him outright, or if they would go and try to have another child first, or if his father would decide to spend all the money on being a shareholder with Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and on research for Dark Mark scar removal.

With a strangled laugh he realised that it was really all McGonagall's fault. If she hadn't given them an essay on paperclip-to-cutlery-transfiguration those holidays and hadn't required it to be half a foot longer than could reasonably be written with the help of their regular Transfiguration textbook alone, he would never have come across Santini's book, or Heat of Passion, Calor Cupiditatis. Sarah would have walked away from him that one evening when he was late, and she maybe would've hooked up with Potter afterwards or not, but anyway, it wouldn't have had anything to do with him.

Or maybe it would have.

Potter would probably have got under his skin either way.

Just _he_ wouldn't have got under Potter's skin. Or into Potter's pants.

He wondered whether Potter, if and when he found out, would feel sick to his stomach. Whether the memory of being touched would make his skin crawl.

He poked his finger at the small swelling on his cheekbone until it hurt and he accepted the stinging pain as a sort of punishment although he knew that it was sort of stupid and entirely insufficient all at once.

As Mariella had said, and as he himself had become aware of both long ago and also too late, he had fucked up. All he could hope to do was to perform damage control... even though he had no idea if or how this might be possible.

He took a shaky breath.

Maybe it was just his imagination playing tricks on him but he could've sworn he still smelled him. The smell of his body, warm and alive and aroused. The tang of him, overpowering, coating his tongue and the back of his throat.

There was no denying that it was a sweet memory, no matter how tarnished. It made him feel warm and alive and aroused, too, deep in his belly, and made his blood course faster and hotter through his veins, and it made him wish he could have more of it, have it every day for the rest of his life.

As the door slowly opened with a long-familiar groan and squeak, he felt deeply that he would hold on to that recollection, no matter what. He braced himself.

"Someone here?" Potter, having slid into the room through a narrow gap, stayed by the door, not even shutting it entirely, more ready to turn and run than ever.

Or possibly blocking the exit.

Even in the half-dark, Scorpius could tell that his demeanour was different. It reminded him of the way he marched onto the Quidditch pitch, as the foremost point of the arrowhead-formation the Gryffindor team always took when coming out of the team dressing room, the slow, determined kind of stride that Hollywood had practically invented the slow motion shot for. Ready to bash someone's head in with all the anger he had pent up from acting so cool and aloof all the time.

Potter breathed out audibly, then repeated, "Is there someone here?"

Scorpius felt his mouth open. No sound came out even though he pushed.

"Come on," he heard Potter whisper under his breath. Out loud, he almost yelled, "Is there somebody here? Anyone?" Pause. "Sarah, is this a joke? Because if it is, it's a bad one." More quietly, he added, "Another bad one."

So yesterday's inebriated haze was fading, and he was starting to think about the implications for the person he had, drunkenly, accepted back in his life. Scorpius tried to no feel a spark of gratification about that.

"You know what, I'm going to leave," Potter told the persistent silence of the trophy room. "The others are waiting already."

He stood for a minute, silent, stock-still, only his eyes moved as his gaze swept the room slowly, sweeping past, over, and through Scorpius' invisible form. Then he sighed and turned with a sound almost like a growl, frustrated and annoyed.

Scorpius suddenly felt keenly that this would be the last he'd likely ever see of him, in person, ever. Should Mariella's predictions come true, he'd perhaps see his face on newspaper front pages – but never again in real life.

He hung his head as the door's hinges squeaked. The tips of his shoes were rapidly getting visible on the floor, making them look disembodied, an odd sight.

The very last time.

The very last chance to try and unravel the mess he had made.

And make him look. Make him _see_.

"Wait."

It came out sounding like a frog's croak, and in a higher pitch than usual. So he cleared his throat and repeated, voice as strong as he could, "Wait. Don't go yet."

Potter let the door fall shut again and stepped back into the room. His wand was in his hand, pointing straight ahead and unwittingly right at Scorpius' chest. "Expelliarmus!" he shouted.

The spell hit Scorpius like a soft, warm pillow that still knocked him back half a step until he felt the press of the wall against his shoulders. He had placed his own wand on the shelf in the corner of the room between some musty textbooks, knowing that this would happen.

"Who are you?!" Potter yelled when his spell proved to be without any effect. "Show yourself!"

It just figured, Scorpius thought, that he didn't recognise his voice. Bloody ironic.

"I will. Just, hear me out. Please?"

James huffed spitefully. "Do you think I really need to hear your excuses for what you have done to me? Or that I'd even _want_ them?"

"Not- Not really, I guess," Scorpius conceded. "Perhaps you'd want an explanation, though. In regards to your girlfriend, especially."

The wand twitched and was lowered half an inch.

"I'm obviously not Sarah, so... that means that she lied to you. When you told her about... about this, yesterday in Hogsmeade, she took the blame. I believe that she knew it had really been me, but she told you it was her nonetheless. You should probably ask her for her own reasons to do so. I..." He cleared his throat again. "You deserved to know." Scorpius felt it was a true statement, that he _did_ deserve it. As usual when it came to interpersonal stuff, Mariella had been right.

James had now noticed the lower legs and fingertips becoming visible and lifted his wand again, the body parts making it easy for him to aim purposefully. The expression on his face, however, was one of sheer confusion, not of determination. Professor Finnigan's rules said that you only get to point your wand when you're absolutely certain you know what to do with whoever or whatever you're pointing it at.

"She... She _knew_ it was-?" James swallowed on a dry throat. "What are you saying? That she's... That you were working together on this... this...?"

"No. No, she had nothing to do with it. It was all me. It was..." Scorpius breathed against the sudden urge to scream, or cry. "It was all my crime, and mine alone."

Scorpius saw his own wrists and arms reappear rapidly. Visibility took hold of his knees and rushed up his thighs.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" James asked, confused and frustrated. "Why did you do this to me?!"

"I wanted to," he said but his throat was so tight that merely a hoarse whisper came out. Potter probably didn't hear it.

It was true. In the end, he had only followed his instinctual need, his cravings. He had done whatever he had wanted, wherever his desire had led him. He still couldn't figure out how it could be that he would want Potter in this way, but that was what had happened in the end.

And now, it was done. Over.

"Spell's wearing off quickly," he said flatly and his voice only cracked a little.

In response, James wordlessly lifted the wand a bit higher until it was pointing where he expected his head to appear any minute now.

Scorpius looked along that wand, the hand and the arm holding it, and into his face. Into his eyes. So cold and hard. Angry. He was angry, truly and rightfully, relentlessly furious. He was shaking with it.

That alone he would have endured. In his life he had incurred the wrath of Mariella Lawless, and of Minerva McGonagall and Irma Pince, and of his entire family – and every one of them, both of his parents and his grandparents on his mother's side, was a wrathful person when the mood took them. Especially his father had had many bad days in the past. Hell, he had even seen Potter properly angry before, right before he'd smashed his face in with a bludger. And also when he'd had him in this room for the first time, stuck to the bookshelf like a butterfly in a spider's web.

But there was also the glint of utter repulsion in James' eyes that was just waiting to latch on to something concrete and substantial, waiting to catch sight of something he could focus on. The corners of his mouth twitched downwards. Scorpius simply couldn't take it just like he had feared. His stomach cramped violently and he just couldn't do it.

He wanted to turn around, turn his back to him. He wanted to cover his eyes with his hands in the childish hope that, if he couldn't see James then James wouldn't be able to see him, either. Or at least be unable to look at him that way.

Without thinking, he reached up and hurriedly jerked the knot of his tie to loosen it, and kept pulling until the noose was wide enough for the tie to go over his head. He lifted it up, tilting his head back, laid the tie around his eyes, and tugged the ends tight again until it wrapped around his face like a slim, heavy blindfold. The knot sat near his right ear.

James Potter's anger and disgust vanished in merciful blackness.

Long moments ticked by. Without sight, his hearing strained to map the world. It consisted of his own pounding heartbeat, rushing blood and shallow breathing, and nothing more for a long, lost moment. His face went warm and prickly with sweat. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

Then, Potter softly groaned a strangled "You?!", so dripping with resentment and aversion that it made the breath catch in Scorpius' throat. A great, cruel hand reached into his ribcage and squeezed his heart. Thankfully, the blindfold hid the searing hot tears that had shot into his eyes so he could pretend they weren't there at all. He felt his face go even warmer.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed but didn't give his voice any breath. He didn't dare to. After all, it wasn't really true the way it should be.

He was sorry James felt such disgust. He was sorry that it had all been so horribly wrong.

He was sorry it was over.

He wasn't sorry he'd done it. To be near James, to touch him, he knew he would do it and all that it entailed, all over again. Without regard, all over again.

And then he just screwed his eyes shut, pulled his shoulders up and waited for an impact of some sort. He waited for more pain, from without this time. Tentatively, he felt for the wall behind him with his hand, just in case he'd be pushed or have his skull bashed against it. He strained his ears to hear Potter's verdict.

The verdict, it turned out. consisted of two parts. The first was a long, unbearable silence.

Scorpius couldn't have said exactly how long he stood there, shoulders hunched and his head pulled in, the fingertips of his right hand laid against the cold brick behind his back, with his improvised blindfold pushing his eyeballs into his sockets. For a short, fleeting moment, Scorpius thought he felt a puff of air against his face, as if Potter had moved around somewhere near him, but there were no footsteps and there was no rustle of clothes. He must have imagined it. Loudly, he heard his own breathing. Many pounding heartbeats went by.

The second part of the verdict was the door opening and heavily falling shut, and then silence and the feeling of being utterly alone in the room.

Scorpius pulled the blindfold from his eyes, over his head and let it drop carelessly. The world was blurry around him. He sat on the floor, too weak-kneed for so much as a step anywhere, leaned his back against the wall and wrapped his arms around his heavy head. Every exhalation turned into a sigh, and every sigh turned quavery and threatened him with more tears, so he held his breath as long as he could.

No wonder people so rarely did the 'right damn thing' when it felt this awful, especially when, in comparison, 'fucking up' felt as good as it had.

But now it was over. All over.

/**TBC**

_Only one more chapter to go! Hope to see you there!  
_


	20. Chapter 20

Title: Calor Cupiditatis

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/James Sirius Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and sexual situations and themes.

Warnings: original characters; slash, het, non-consensual situations

_The final chapter, y'all! Thank you for reading all my stuff this far!_

/

**Chapter 20**

/

The summer holidays were long and busy. Shrew and Bagman came over and stayed at the Manor for two weeks while Shrew's, Constance's and Scorpius' parents went on what Astoria Malfoy excitedly called 'an expedition' to Edinburgh to map out some caves hidden under Edinburgh castle and have a look at old, precious manuscripts. Meanwhile, Scorpius and his two friends got to try out Shrew's new camping gear, first in the Malfoy's vast backyard, then in the Wiltshire countryside.

After that, Scorpius was invited to New York by Shrew's aunt who owned a penthouse on the topmost floor of the Waldorf Astoria building where they celebrated her own and Shrew's birthday.

After that, his clique gathered at the Lawless' house for a weekend to discuss and review timetables, study plans in light of their respective end-of-term consultations with the teachers – Scorpius had sat through ten minutes of McGonagall's advice and had meekly nodded along until she sent him away with a detailed evaluation parchment and a sigh –, have a look at the recently released old N.E.W.T. exams, agree on tutoring groups and put together detailed studying check lists for each of them so they'd all pass their N.E.W.T.s together next year. On the occasion, they celebrated Scorpius' seventeenth birthday – an unforgettable event none of them really remembered.

After that, Scorpius accompanied his father to Belgium for three days, for a Weasley's Wheezes shareholder meeting. Turned out that the other shareholders were either dead-eyed vultures wearing suits more expensive than some houses, or complete kooks with birds literally nesting in their beards. Bruges was really pretty, though, and the waffles were very, very good.

And after that, Mariella came over again to start with her much-needed revision of six years worth of Potions syllabus, followed closely by Bagman who went over the entirety of fifth and sixth year Herbology with him again until he was sorely tempted to find one of the six dozen poisonous plants he now knew everything about and kill himself with it.

It felt like everyone was trying to keep his mind busy and distracted on purpose, like it was all a big conspiracy. In Brussels he met a Beauxbatons girl called Justine who wrote him a letter that smelled of cherry blossom and closed with a lipstick kiss every week. In New York, Shrew had introduced him to his twice removed cousin Gwendoline who had firecalled him once and invited him to her spectacular twentieth birthday party which she had already started planning although it only was in July next year. During their Herbology review, Bagman had insisted on sitting annoyingly closely to him all the time, close enough for him to notice that she had shaved her legs to silky smoothness and that she was wearing mascara and a hint of sweet perfume.

Sitting in the window seat of the Hogwarts Express for the very last time on September 1st, looking out and seeing King's Cross Station vanish behind the bend, he marvelled at the fact that, although his holidays had been so crammed with activities and new acquaintances, and although the entire point of the alleged conspiracy had been to keep him preoccupied, there had never been a day when there hadn't been time for him to think about James Potter.

In the two months he hadn't heard a single word about him, which, he supposed, was a good thing.

Every evening before going to bed, he had started writing a long letter, acting like James was the intended addressee. In that letter, he sorted out his thoughts and feelings regarding everything that had transpired, and he apologised. Seeing the words on the parchment untangled some things although most of them stayed hidden and vague, and each apology was closer to the truth of the matter, and more and more sincere.

Every evening, he had burnt the letter feeling immensely stupid.

At night, he had sometimes dreamt of him.

He wondered whether this was what it was going to be like forever. Whether there was any way at all for him to have something bigger, more important, more _everything_ that might replace Potter. Because it didn't look like he was going to fade away any time soon by himself.

Mariella gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow. "M'lord Malfoy. Snap out of it. We've got business."

For the rest of the train ride, they discussed studying issues, and detailed exam plans that Brice Parkinson had somehow got hold of, and the practicability of including Brice in their study group despite his being a gigantic twat.

Shortly after that, Tiffany Collins, her friend and Slytherin chaser Gemma Reedy, and beater Daniel Thomas found him and called for an impromptu Quidditch meeting to hash out Quidditch team issues. The trio was very persistent and even insisted on riding the carriage to the castle with him, ceaselessly talking about drafting options, pre-selections and closed-audition try-outs even though they had to yell to be heard over the rushing sound of the rain beating against the carriage top. It all gave Scorpius a raging headache and made him rue the day that he had taken up the team captain's spot from Lloyd Christopher.

And yet, he thought as he settled down in his old, familiar spot at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, despite all the troubles, the bustling and the busy-ness that would demand 25 hours of unflinching concentration per day for the next ten months straight at least, there was _still_ time to think about James Sirius Potter. There was still time to glance over at the Gryffindor table.

He spotted James' younger brother Albus, now also a seventh year student, who was sitting with his forever-girlfriend Lauren, as expected. Lily Luna was several seats down, animatedly talking to her friends. All the old places – specifically the one in which Scorpius had normally seen James – were now claimed by sixth and seventh year students who had budged up to make space for the fresh little Gryffindorks who would soon join their ranks.

"Kindly refrain from doing that," Mariella growled into his ear and he snapped back around.

"From doing what?" he asked, surreptitiously checking whether any of the others had caught her remark, or his glances. None of them had. Prince was obviously trying to fight Bagman off – Scorpius had already realised during the train ride, with some relief, how Bagman's attentions had redirected again – and Shrew was talking to Parkinson who was now an unofficial part of the group, at least until he outlived his usefulness. Mariella had codenamed him 'Appendixon'.

She tsk'ed at his question. "You know what."

He didn't get to come up with a repartee. The doors opened and Headmistress McGonagall entered, followed by a huddled double queue of pale-faced, wide-eyed, and also rather besotted-looking first years. Scorpius decided to let the previous exchange slide and made bets with Mariella for new Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in the crowd of midgets. Several knuts changed hands in the following hour. McGonagall's second part of the welcome speech was a convenient opportunity to count the final tally – Mariella won, overall, by a margin of three knuts – and to discuss with Shrew the kinship relations of the new contracts. One always had to keep up with new bonds forming through sorting and loyalties shifting, after all. Interesting new patterns were in the making.

Scorpius was just about to complain about the wait getting long on his woefully empty stomach when McGonagall finally came to the last point on her checklist. Staff fluctuation always came last. Scorpius wondered whether that made it the most or the least important bit.

One new face was present on the panel. According to Brice Parkinson, Professor Grubbly-Plank was pregnant again. Her substitute looked like one of the kooks Scorpius had met in Belgium with his dad, beard and all. McGonagall furthermore informed them that an additional Transfiguration teacher by the name of Alverdine Sullivan had been hired to substitute for herself when she would temporarily assume political duties for a month or two come January, the month when Harry Potter was to be officially sworn in as Head Auror. "Ms Sullivan will be joining the staff in October and participate in Transfiguration classes," she said, sounding like she already dreaded leaving the authority over her precious Transfiguration lessons in someone else's less capable hands.

McGonagall was about to finally let her starving students have their well-deserved meal when Professor Smith cleared his throat from the far end of the teacher's table. Loudly.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Shipley," McGonagall said, visibly not very grateful at all to be reminded that she, too, was getting ever older and forgetting things despite her latent perfectionism. The students gave a slightly annoyed huff at the renewed delay.

"Professor Smith, our teacher for Potions, in his capacity as a decorated Bronze Star Member of the Society of International Magical Manufacturers of Elixirs Respectables, S.I.M.M.E.R, and as a Ministry-recognised Merlin of the Cauldron, Potion Master Second-and-a-half'th Class," she recited in a slightly bored tone and without once drawing breath in between, "has decided to take on an apprentice this year as is custom for every Potions Master of his rank. Said apprentice will be present in the castle to be under the tutelage of Professor Smith, and he might, depending on timetables and syllabus, assist or betimes assume the teaching role in the Potions classroom. Potter, if you would rise for a moment..."

Scorpius felt his heart sink down into his stomach and settle, quivering, between his guts.

Sitting next to and also slightly behind Professor Smith on the faraway end of the teacher's table, he'd been hidden, unseeable to all but the smallest bit of the Slytherin table all the way in the back, nearest to the doors. But when James Sirius Potter rose from his chair, greeted with warm applause especially from the Gryffindors, Scorpius felt that every other person in this hall had vanished and he could see nobody but him.

/

~~**FIN/TBC**

_Thank you for reading! Comments, reviews, any sort of response would be very, very much appreciated!_

… _oh, by the way, there's a sequel. It's called 'Ardor Animorum'. I've already uploaded the first chapter today. _


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